The Eostian War
by A guy named Ben
Summary: The Black Dog mercenaries had risen up against the Seven Shields and are threatening to remake Eostia in their perverse image. However, as they began to carry out their plan, hope arrived from an unexpected quarter. Rated M for language, suggestive themes, blood, violence, boring exposition, the works.
1. Prologue

**If you're already familiar with the other story I'm working on, you might be wondering why I made this new thing instead of actually continuing that. The answer is simple: this thing here keeps popping up in my head whenever I think of new ideas for the _Warhammer _crossover. It's getting annoying, so I'll post these chapters that my brain formed without my consent so that I can get back to the Settra story.**

**Oh, and I don't own _Kuroinu _or _Medieval II Total War_, but you already know that. I'll also go ahead and say I didn't make the _Stainless Steel_ mod just in case.**

* * *

Prologue  
Strangers

Feoh might be lost.

Eliza thought of it. Her sisters in the squadron also thought of it. Even the Knight-Sergeant Clara knew it, though she tried to hide her growing despair with stoic silence.

The Black Dogs, damn them all, had truly betrayed the Seven Shield Alliance. They who were supposed to bring the Dark Queen to justice and finally end the brutal Hundred-Year War suddenly turned on their Goddess and their fellows, allied with the demonic legion they were supposed to defeat, and declared war for what might be the most abominable and insane reason ever conceived: the formation of a 'Sex Empire', as they called it, where all women will be subject to the lusts of all men.

Eliza, knight-notiviate of the Holy Iris Order, grit her teeth so tight so tightly she was starting to feel pain. _How dare they_, she thought. _How dare they._

'Novitiate Eliza!' Sergeant Clara called out from Eliza's right, breaking the young novitiate out of the red cloud of anger. 'You're falling behind! Keep up!'

'Yes, Knight-Sergeant,' Eliza replied, blushing with embarrassment and urging her horse onward. 'Sorry, Knight-Sergeant.'

'Stay focussed, all of you,' Sergeant Clara told her four sisters. 'You all know what's at stake if we fail.'

The five Iris Knights rode through secret forested tracks between Feoh and its sister fortress-city of Ur. The Black Dogs and their new demon allies had come to Feoh in force far too quickly for anyone to have prepared for. Tens of thousands of the beasts of the north poured forth from the Shield Mountains, with barely over a thousand knights and four thousand hastily-raised militia forces to defend the city.

Princess Alicia knew that the city would not be able to stand without any external aid. Thus, before the Dogs could arrive, she sent Sergeant Clara and her squadron off to Ur to call for reinforcements.

Eliza looked back as she left the city through one of the smaller auxiliary gates. She thought she might have been seeing things, but she thought she saw the outer wall's main gates opening. Surely Princess Alicia did not think of sallying forth against so numerous an enemy?

The five knights left Feoh at the break of dawn. They moved in a wedge formation through the secret forest tracks to Ur, galloping at speed under the shade of great trees and dense foliage. They had been riding unceasingly for hours. Though the forest's thick canopy hid it from the knights, it was the third hour after midday. The fatigue and hunger they so desperately tried to disregard was starting to catch up with them, and they felt the twin discomforts of sweat and insect bites upon their bared skin. Even their horses – pure-bred ones Princess Alicia loaned to them from her own stables – were starting to slow.

'The horses are slowing, Knight-Sergeant,' Novitiate Sylvia, who was riding at the sergeant's left, said. 'It might be better to take a short res-'

'No,' Sergeant Clara interrupted, keeping her eyes forward. 'We do not rest until sundown. We have to get to Ur as quickly as possible.'

'But if our horses collapse due to exhaustion, we will be even more delayed,' Sylvia said.

Sergeant Clara looked at Sylvia. 'My decision stands, Novitiate,' she said flatly. 'The Princess is counting on us. We _must _make the most out of all the daylight we have for travelling and hopefully reach a clearing by sundown. These woods are impossible to travel through at night.'

'O-of course, Knight-Sergeant,' Sylvia answered, hanging her head in shame. 'Sorry, Knight-Sergeant.'

'As long as you unders- Argh!'

Sergeant Clara's answer was interrupted by her horse suddenly rearing up and neighing in fear. She held onto her reins as best she could, but the steed's wobbled back on its hind legs and fell on its side, dead. She felt an intense pain in her left side and left arm, which took most of the impact of the fall, but mercifully, her head did not hit the ground. She looked up from beneath the dead animal and saw the rest of her squadron's horses taking unsteady backward steps as the knights rode them drew their swords and looked onwards, fear and shock evident in their eyes.

'Lutz, you bastard, I think you killed one!' a man said from in front of Sergeant Clara. 'And that was the blonde! I told you I wanted the blonde!'

'Fuck you, Zac,' another man said. 'I just shot the horse. Your bitch is alive under there. Maybe I even pinned her down nicely for you.'

'You owe me a drink if she isn't.'

Shuffling noises emerged from the woods around the squadron, accompanied by the stamping of large feet. More sounds followed, the sounds of men and beasts.

The situation became evident to Sergeant Clara: the Black Dogs somehow found out about the secret path. Trapped and hurt, she knew she had only one course of action left. She closed her eyes and drew her breath, not stopping despite the pain.

'Knights of Iris!' she shouted. 'Scatter! Leave me! Stop for nothing!'

* * *

Eliza rode as if possessed, urging her horse to keep running at full gallop. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, and her chest ached at the loss of her sisters. Novitiate Henrietta rode alongside her, but her horse too was shot in the rump and fell down. The Black Dogs have gotten to her as well. Eliza looked back and wanted to help, but Henrietta shouted at her to keep riding and stop for nothing. Eliza saw the Black Dogs get to her not long after that.

_Keep riding, stop at nothing_, the young novitiate told herself._ Keep riding, stop at nothing_.

Both Eliza and her horse were utterly exhausted, but their fear was making them fly. Still, the Black Dogs were right at their heels. The clattering of their own horses' hooves and the baying of their hounds constantly rang on her ears, ever spurring her forward.

'Ride on, you bastards!' a voice called out behind her.

_Keep riding, stop at nothing._

'I want to fuck her first!' another one shouted, seemingly closer than the first.

_Keep riding, stop at nothing._

'Fuck you, the first one to get to her gets first dibs!' yet another voice said.

_Keep riding, stop at nothing._ _Keep riding, stop at nothing_. _Keep riding, stop at nothing_. _Keep riding, stop at-_

Eliza saw light in front of her. A clearing. _Safety_, a treacherous, unbidden thought rang out. She disregarded it and leaned forward, gripping her reins tightly and urging her horse to go even faster.

And then a heavy, black mass collided with her horse from the side.

One of the Black Dogs' hounds, a large, black, red-eyed, slavering thing, sank its fangs deep into the horse's right shoulder. The terrified steed reared up and tried to dislodge the hound, and Eliza held on to her reins for dear life. After she secured her grip, she drew her sword and stabbed down at the hound's skull. Once, twice, three times she struck, and the creature's iron grip was finally loosened. Exhausted and losing blood, the horse's knees buckled, and Eliza had no choice but to leave it and make a run for the clearing. The baying of the hounds were around her, and the Black Dogs' triumphant whoops were getting closer.

'There she is, boys!'

'Come and play, little girl!'

'Look at the arse of that one!'

Eliza ran. Her breath was ragged, her vision was blurring, and she can feel her legs beginning to sway under her, but she ran.

_Keep running, stop at nothing_, she urged herself_. Don't let them take you alive._

Eliza passed the final tree stumbled onto the clearing, the wind cooling her sweat-drenched skin. After a few unsteady steps, her strength finally gave and she collapsed on her knees. She planted her bloodstained sword on the ground and used it as support to stand back up, but she found that she lacked the strength to do so. Tears again flowed from here eyes as she hung her head in defeat.

Moments later, she was surrounded by her six Black Dog pursuers. They stepped off their horses and surrounded her. Their leader knelt down in front of her and grabbed her face, turning her to face him.

'Well, well,' he said, licking his lips in delight. 'You gave us quite the chase there, little girl.'

'But it's all worth it, Sarge,' another Black Dog, a stout, repulsive-looking man, said from behind the leader. 'We saved the prettiest for last!'

'That we did,' the sergeant said as he stood up and started undoing his belt. Eliza looked down at her left hip and at the dagger resting upon it.

_Don't let them take you alive._

She had no chance of acting upon what she thought as a warm liquid landed on her face. She wiped her face with a hand and looked at it.

_Blood?_

Eliza looked up and saw that two arrows had hit the Black Dog sergeant, one at the throat and one at the chest. The brute dumbly looked down at the arrow on his chest before falling in an unceremonious heap. _Reinforcements! _Eliza thought. The Black Dogs scrambled to get back to their horses, but they were soon set upon by other horsemen, who cut them down with curved swords that glinted in the setting sun before they could fight back. The last Black Dog tried to run back to the forest, only to get hit by an arrow at the back and fall off his horse.

The newcomers then surrounded Eliza, whose vision was blurry from exhaustion. One of them, the leader, perhaps, said something, but she could no longer understand. All the knight-novitiate could do was stammer out two words between pants.

'Please… help…'

* * *

Eliza awoke with a start. She tried getting upright, but she found that her entire body was aching. She also started feeling a drilling pain in her head, possibly a delayed reaction to her sudden awakening. She looked up and saw that she was inside a tent, tucked up in a bedroll. She felt that she still had all of her armour intact, and a coarse tunic and leggings even covered that up. She breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the Goddess that her maidenhead had been preserved, though she feared that would not be the situation for long. She looked around and saw a man in a white tunic looking at her with wide-eyed surprise. Before she could do anything, the man bolted from the tent.

Moments later, another man entered the tent. He was an old man, shorter than most and getting round in the belly in age. He was dressed in a black robe and had a black cylindrical cap on his head. He had a ruddy complexion that spoke of a life spent outdoors and a full grey beard that covered the lower half of his round face. He had bright brown eyes, and his gentle smile was a stark contrast to the lecherous faces of the Black Dogs she last saw in the clearing. He also had a silver necklace on his chest, one that ended in a richly-decorated cruciform design that showed the vague outline of a man with spread arms and what seemed like runic inscriptions.

Eliza tried to sit up and placed an arm protectively around her chest. She looked around for her sword, which she found at her feet.

'W-what do you want?' She demanded.

The man's smile widened, and he briefly presented his open palms as if to show he is unarmed.

'Be not afraid, my dear,' he said, keeping his distance. Eliza noted his strange accent and manner of speaking. A foreigner? The man reached out and took a pitcher and cup. 'I mean you no harm. I simply wish to see if you are well.' He poured water onto the cup and offered it to Eliza.

'I…' Eliza hesitated but slowly relaxed. 'I feel better than before.' She took the proffered cup and took a gulp. 'Thank you, sir...'

'You may call me Father Makarios,' the man said. _Father? Like a priest? _Eliza thought. 'With whom do I have the honour of speaking?' he continued.

'I am Eliza, Father,' the knight replied and took another sip of the water. 'You and your companions, my rescuers… who are you?'

'We, dearest Eliza,' Father Makarios said, placing a hand over his heart. 'We are the Rhomaioi.'

* * *

**And it's the Byzantines. Who'd have thunk it? I'm going to keep working on this story until my brain decides to start cooperating and actually think up ideas about the new Settra chapter. I actually already have a rough draft of how the battle in that one goes in my head, but whenever I try to write it down, I keep getting interrupted by ideas for this story. You know what that's like, right?**

**This story is actually the prototype of the Settra story since I thought of this first while I was stuck in that bus before scrapping the entire idea and thinking of throwing Alcadizaar the Conqueror to Eostia just after he killed Nagash and then going from there. There might be some similarities between some characters to that story or maybe big, glaring differences. You can see this is a prototype because the characters from the _Kuroinu _side of things are still wearing their hentai 'armour'. Also, this takes quite some inspiration from Knight of Ember's _The Eostian Crusade_. **


	2. The Lost Tagma

**And we're here again. Before I proceed, I should tell you that since this is a **_**Total War **_**crossover, I ****sort of ****used my own Byzantine playthrough in this instead of actual history. That way, I have some kind of excuse ****if I get****some historical tidbits wrong****. ****I made use of the **_**Stainless Steel **_**mod**** in that playthrough, ****so I'll make some references to that as well****. ****I ****also made**** use of ****tidbits from ****the Emperor Nikephoros Phokas's **_**Praecepta Militaria **_**for military organisation and ****equipment and things like that, ****so don't be surprised if melee ****infantrymen suddenly take out slings or spearmen switch to swords if the enemies manage to close in. **

**B****y the way, ****I apologise if ****you see**** some points of military organisation ****that ****are**** inaccurate ****our outdated**** for a Komnenian-era Byzantine army ****since you did more research than I did. ****An incomplete portion of the **_**Praeceptia Militaria **_**is the ****only ****military manual**** I could get my**** hands on.**

* * *

Chapter I  
The Lost Tagma

'_It was the Year of Our Lord 1149 or the Year of the World 6667 by the old reckoning. Ioannes II Komnenos, Emperor and Autocrat of the Romans, concluded what was to be his last campaign in the field with a decisive victory against the Seljuk Sultanate of Rum in the Battle of Caesarea and the reconquest of all the lands of the old Theme of Cappadocia. This victory permanently shifted the balance of power in the region, and it seemed to all observers that the reconquest of the entirety of Anatolia was merely a matter of time._

_After their victory, the Roman armies returned to Constantinople, where the Emperor wished to honour his troops with a triumphal procession. Five of the tagmata that joined the campaign accompanied him west. However, the sixth, led by the Strategos Stephanos Kalomeros of Trebizond, marched north and east to head to Trebizond in fulfilment of Kalomeros's holy vow to give thanks to the Theotokos at the Church of the Panagia Chrysokephalos for the survival of his only son in this, his first war._

_Kalomeros's tagma never made it to Trebizond. They were last attested at the border of the Sultanate of Rum and the Theme of Chaldia. The search found nothing, and it was assumed that Stephanos Kalomeros, faithful strategos, governor of the Theme of Chaldia, hero of Caesarea and friend to the Emperor, had perished along with his entire army. Upon hearing this news, the Emperor was said to have wept before his courtiers._

_The disappearance of Kalomeros's tagma was immediately attributed to Turkish treachery. Sultan Masud I denied all allegations and sought a peaceful resolution, but his advanced age, ill health, and recent defeat shattered what little control over his beyliks he had left. His princes and commanders gathered under the banner of his son Kilij Arslan, who sought vengeance against the Romans. The embers of war, freshly snuffed out by a recent peace, almost immediately flared back to life. Small-scale raids were launched by both sides before the year's end while Isaakios and Manuel, the Emperor's sons, began a general mobilisation of the troops. War was formally declared in 1151. This chapter of the endless wars between the Romans and the Turks would continue well into the reign of the Emperor Isaakios II._

_In the years and decades that followed, questions about Kalomeros's disappearance emerged. New investigations were launched into the disappearance of Kalomeros's tagma, all of which bore no conclusive results. To this day, the fate of the Lost Tagma is one of the great unanswered questions for scholars and historians in the Empire and abroad.'_

_\- excerpted from _The Komnenian Restoration Vol. I: 1081-1181_, Constantinople University Press_

* * *

The cloud-wreathed autumn sun was about to begin its descent westward as a Roman army of the Imperial Tagmata marched along the north bank of the Lykos River in north-eastern Anatolia. Ranks of Imperial infantrymen marched in a standard hollow square around the wounded, the baggage train, and the livestock. The army's cavalry formed a protective screen around the infantry, the nimble koursores on the flanks and rear and the elite kataphraktoi at the vanguard. The Romans marched across the green, hilly terrain with all the confidence of men triumphant as their banners flapped in the air to announce their arrival. Ahead of the main formation were small squadrons of hippo-toxotai and mounted akritoi, who scouted ahead of the main body of the army and accompanied the surveyors who sought the location of their next camp.

The Strategos Stephanos Kalomeros rode alongside his kataphrakoi. He was armed in the full panoply of an Imperial kataphraktos, with a helmet and a face-concealing chainmail veil and a thick red surcoat that covered his armour of lamellar and mail. His lance and shield were strapped on his back, and his swords and maces lay in their sheaths. Around him rode the officers of his army, similarly arrayed in their full panoply as protocol dictated.

'I have completed the preliminary tally of our soldiers, my lord,' The Allagator Alexios Syropoulos, Stephanos's brother-in-law and the army's Master of Camp, reported. 'Overall, the tagma suffered at least 300 soldiers dead, 1,200 soldiers wounded. About a thousand of our wounded soldiers have been treated by our physicians and are already marching alongside their fellows.'

'We began the battle with 5,000 soldiers,' Stephanos said. 'To fight a battle as great as the one outside Caesarea and walk away with 4,500 still reasonably intact is a blessing in itself. Our thanks be to God for preserving His servants and granting such a victory to our Emperor, whose leadership has seen us through.'

'A blessing indeed, Sebastos,' the Topoteretes Demetrios Mourtzouphlos, Stephanos's deputy, remarked with a nod. 'Though I believe it would do you well to recognise the skill of this tagma's commander as well.'

'Oh, _him_,' Stephanos said in mock monotone. 'Yes, he does well enough, I suppose.' He and the other officers in earshot chuckled. The Strategos again turned to Alexios, who understood and resumed his report.

'Our supply situation is as much as what we expected,' the Master of Camp said. 'At our current rate of consumption, we have at least…' he did a series of quick calculations in his mind, not willing to bother the Strategos with exact weighs and measures until they were in camp. 'Five days' worth of grain and feed for the cattle. We came to the campaign wanting in re-mounts anyway, but the losses of the past battles mean we are down to our last re-mount for most of our lesser horsemen.'

'Press some of my own horses into service if necessity demands,' Stephanos said. 'Let all our commanders and kataphraktoi also provide their own to the service of the army if they so wish. They shall be compensated once we reach the city.'

'Very good, sir.' Alexios replied, mentally noting to make that announcement later. 'We also have at least three spare spears and a spare sword for each man. We may find ourselves down to the last six javelins for the akritoi and twenty-four military arrows for all of our archers, though our hunting arrows can serve our purposes if the need arises. We do, however, have more than sufficient amounts of stones and bolts for our great crossbows and stones for our helepoleis. Our supply of liquid fire is critically low due to that stratagem you launched in the last battle.'

'Such fastidiousness,' the Frankish Komes Robert de Brienne, leader of the Latinikon contingent of 150 Frankish knights that accompanied the tagma. His panoply was a curious sight: a kataphraktos's face-concealing veiled iron helm and splinted arm guards alongside a Latin knight's mail coat and leggings, all covered by a rich blue surcoat that shows the heraldry of his noble house. He also carried a heavy Latin lance alongside a paramerion, an iron mace of Roman make, and a Norman shield strapped to his back.

'Based on the detail of your report, Count Syropoulos, one would think that we are an army on campaign instead of one that just aided in the victorious prosecution of a war,' the French knight said, sounding not a little impressed.

'As is necessary, Count de Brienne,' Stephanos replied for his brother-in-law. 'Victorious or no, we are still technically in enemy territory. Between the rebel Danishmends and rebellious nobles the Turkish Sultan may not be able to hold back, there are chances aplenty for an ambush. I will not tarnish the honour of the Roman Army by falling to an unauthorised ambush by a resentful nobleman with delusions of grandeur.'

'True,' Robert said, nodding in assent. 'Carelessness is a weapon deadlier than any enemy blade.'

'The honour of our Emperor demands such lengths in prosecuting our duties,' mused Primikerios Harald Olafsson, head of the army's Varangian contingent. He was a giant of a man, towering a full head above an average Roman, and his large black horse made him more imposing still. He wore a lamellar vest and a coat of mail alongside a veiled Roman helm. The signature two-handed axe of his station was strapped to his back alongside his shield, and he had a Roman spathion and a mace in his saddle and daggers on his belt. While he and his Varangians know no master but the Emperor himself, such is the Emperor's esteem of Stephanos that he assigned a 300-strong contingent, along with 200 picked men of his own household troops, to accompany his tagma for this campaign. Included among those men were the dreaded siphonatores, bearers of the liquid fire.

Harald was seen as the Emperor's voice in the field. Though he still deferred command to Stephanos, when he spoke, the other officers were obliged to listen.

'I fought alongside your son in the battle, Sebastos Kalomeros,' Harald said, riding up beside Stephanos. 'He has proven himself a most valiant warrior despite his youth. Truly his father's son. I shall be honoured to tell our Emperor of his deeds in Caesarea.'

'I thank you, Primikerios,' Stephanos said. 'And I am certain Markos would be honoured as well if he hears of your praise. But if I am to be honest, he takes more after his mother than me.'

'I shall be honoured to meet the Lady Kalomerina once we enter the city then, if it would please you,' Harald said.

Stephanos unconsciously found his right palm over his heart, over the wooden cross necklace once owned by his wife. 'I am afraid that will not be possible,' Stephanos said. Harald looked at him, confused.

'The Lady Helena Kalomerina died of illness ten years ago,' Alexios said.

Harald nodded. 'Ah. Then please accept my apologies if I have made offence,' he said.

'There is nothing to apologise for, Primikerios,' Stephanos said, his smile invisible beneath his metal veil. 'In fact, I am proud to have been the spouse of a woman of such stature as dearest Helena. Indeed, if Markos is in any way praiseworthy, the honour should more rightly belong to her, not to me.'

'Then she must be a truly fine woman to have gained your praise, Strategos,' Harald said. Stephanos nodded, again touching the spot over Helena's necklace.

The conversation soon died down, and for a moment, Stephanos's ride was silent. Soon enough, though, the sound of approaching horses were heard from the horizon, and a squadron of four akritoi approached the vanguard of the army.

The tetrarchos of the akritoi rode up before Stephanos.

'Report from the minisores, my lord,' he said. 'They have found a suitable camp site.' He stretched his arms and pointed to the north-east. 'It is about six bowshots that way, sir. It's atop a hill, but we do have ready access to water from it. We're scouted the area, and we are certain there are no enemies nearby.'

'Welcome news,' Stephanos said as he dismissed the tetrarchos. He turned to Demetrios. 'Dispatch a messenger to all of our commands,' he ordered. 'We march at speed to the site.'

Stephanos then turned to Alexios. 'Make ready for the creation of a marching camp, Stratopedarches,' He said. He gazed at the sky to see the position of the sun, only to find that the clouds still covered it. He turned back to Alexios. 'I want us to be fully encamped and prepared by the time the day turns. I shall be expecting a fuller report on the tagma's situation in camp.'

'Yes, my lord,' Alexios answered.

Alexios and Demetrios then rode back to the main body of the troops, off to fulfil their orders.

* * *

'We will divide into four squadrons of eight,' Komes Markos Kalomeros ordered. 'Andrej, you lead the first squadron. Lazar, you the second. Petar, you the third. I'll lead the fourth. We will go on overlapping routes around the camp. One patrol group will have two spear companions. No one comes and goes without us knowing.'

The three officers nodded in assent and led their assigned squadrons to their routes.

Markos and his bandon of 32 koursores were tasked with patrolling the outermost perimeter of the camp, the wide area beyond the caltrops and the bells. The horsemen patrolled, as he directed, in groups of four, two spear companions per group, their three-layered routes timed in such a manner that no one side of the camp was unattended for a prolonged period of time. Markos himself led the squadron that guarded the outermost route, the one most likely to see action first if an enemy approaches.

Uniquely in his allagion, Markos's bandon consisted almost entirely of Serb immigrants to the empire. These Serbs were descendants of both the people whom the Emperor relocated to Western Anatolia after their doux sided with the invading Hungarians two decades before, as well as those few Serbian nobles who remained true to the Empire. Lingering resentment against the Empire remained among the Serbs following the Hungarians' defeat, but a constant stream of able young Serbs kept heading eastward to Trebizond to offer their services to army of the Strategos Stephanos Kalomeros, who was himself a descendant of Serbian immigrants.

In his patrol route, Markos rode beside his topoteretes, Gavrilo Vukovic, a distant kinsman of his who grew up in the Kalomeros household.

'You know, Gavrilo,' Markos said after almost an hour of quiet patrolling, but only loud enough so that only his spear companion can hear. 'I have all respect for our Strategos and his complete dedication to the doctrines of war, but I have my doubts about this entire exercise.'

'Which exercise, Komes?' Gavrilo asked.

'This limited patrol,' Markos answered. 'Think about it for a moment. You are a Turk noble acting without your lord's consent. Your armies were crushed, what forces you could scrap together would likely be peasant militia you pressed into service or those few survivors of the battles you managed to cajole, bribe, or bully into joining you.' He stopped talking and looked to the horizon when he thought he saw something. He continued when he realised it was a simply a wild animal. 'Many of them are likely wounded. You gather these sorry wretches and plan to launch them towards the instrument of your defeat. How would you go about the attack?'

Gavrilo shrugged. 'In secret, likely by night-time.'

'Night-time indeed,' Markos said, nodding. 'Any ambushing force here would not dare approach us with the sun up, even if the army is indeed most vulnerable when setting up camp. They would be too visible.'

'What do you propose to do, then?' Gavrilo asked. He looked at Markos and grimaced. He saw that glint in the young komes's eye that always preceded some manner of trouble when they were young.

'To range wider than the outskirts of the camp and further into other hills. Maybe even deep in the woods. Catch the Turks, if they are even there, unprepared.' Markos kept his eyes in the distance, straining to see something – _anything _– worth reporting back to his father. He thought he glimpsed some wild game in the distance and thought of asking for permission to lead some men to a hunt later to supplement the army's stores.

Gav's grimace grew into a frown. 'And if we _do_ see Turk ambushers, what do you propose we do?'

'You will run to the Strategos to warn him of the ambush,' Marcus said. 'I and most of the bandon will stay behind to harry the enemies and await reinforcements. The Latin Count de Brienne is most likely to reach us first, given the Franks' proclivities towards furious speed.'

'And thus, Turks are defeated, and the bandon gets another chance at glory,' Gavrilo replied with a sigh. 'What then, oh most perspicacious one, will you do if the ambushers turn out to be Danishmends? Or if the Turk Sultan decides to strike at us with his entire surviving army in an act of treachery?'

'Sultan Masud will not stoop as low as that,' Marcus said, as if offended on the Turk's behalf. 'He signed a binding treaty and swore before God and the Muslim prophet to a truce after his surrender.'

'He put some ink on parchment and used God to placate His faithful,' Gavrilo said with a shrug. 'Men are ever scoundrels, my lord. Do remember that Prince Vukan also claimed to swear before God to remain ever loyal to the previous Emperor and to the Roman Empire and kissed the cross to seal his oath. See what _that _led to.'

Markos sighed and again scanned the area. The wild game had gone. 'You know what,' he said at last, 'I hate it when you're in the right.'

'After all these years, you are still not used to it?'

* * *

Stephanos retired in his tent with aching limbs and back, a reminder of a good day's work. As was his custom, he entrusted Alexios with organising the construction of the camp and Demetrios to keep abreast of the situation regarding defence while he aided his soldiers in raising the camp. The construction of a fortified camp in potentially hostile territory is one of the most difficult and onerous tasks for a Roman soldier, one hated by any infantryman worth his salt since the days of the Caesars. However, seeing their Strategos sharing in their privations, digging the inner ditch and compacting earthworks with the rest of them, encouraged the soldiers to work all the harder.

Stephanos lived an active lifestyle as a career soldier, and the work should not have been too tiring for him. Still, recognising the need to be alert in case anything happened in the dead of night, he retired to his tent immediately after Father Makarios led the singing of the Trisagion.

Once Stephanos reached the tent, he fell asleep immediately without getting into his bedroll. The last thought that entered his mind was that he seemed to be more tired than he expected. And immediately after he fell asleep, he started to dream.

Stephanos saw a blue sphere with green, brown and moving white patches floating in a void of nothingness, with un-twinkling stars shining in the background. He considered the sphere carefully and thought he saw patterns that were familiar to him: a shape that resembled boot kicking a pebble in the middle of a field of blue – Italy and Sicily. A landmass shaped like a mulberry leaf – the Morea. A protrusion like a golden horn between two seas – Thrace, with Constantinople at its tip. He saw other unfamiliar lands and seas, but he quickly realised he was looking at the sphere of the world.

The world then faded away into another world sphere, one with its lands and seas arranged in a manner very different from that of the Earth. He saw the sphere grow closer, and he thought he saw a half-ring of cities in the border between green, verdant plains and arid desert.

This vision too faded away. Stephanos then saw a vision of a young woman, stark terror on her face, running towards his direction. She was set upon by a pack of large, slavering black hounds with iron fangs and claws and glowing red eyes, terrifying to behold. The woman ran as quickly as she could, but the hounds set upon her and pinned her face-down on the ground. As she tried to crawl away, she looked at Stephanos, the expression in her eyes pleading for help.

The strategos attempted to reach out and help the maiden when the vision again faded out. He heard the violent rushing of wind, felt the ground shake, and saw great plumes of fire. He huddled into a corner, hid his face and kept his eyes shut tightly out of fear, but all became silent. A heartbeat later, Stephanos heard a still, small Voice.

'Out there, beyond the empty void,' the Voice said. 'Lies a world in darkness, kingdoms engulfed in far greater iniquity than the Earth. Its people are beset by a great evil, yet are without recourse to salvation, for they know not My Name. Indeed, their rescue will come, but only after hardship and struggle that will expose the wicked and bring the hearts of the just to light. But who shall go to such a world? Whom shall we send?'

Still huddled in one corner and clutching his face with his hands, Stephanos suddenly found a great sense of purpose. This is no mere dream, he realised, but a divine vision like that of the saints of old. He kept his eyes shut but knelt to one knee.

'Here I am, Lord,' he said. 'Send me.'

The strategos then felt warmth and comfort, a sense of peace and calmness hitherto unknown to him. He opened his eyes and saw that he was wearing his full armour instead of the plain tunic and leggings he went to sleep in. He looked around and saw Markos kneeling beside him. Markos, Alexios, Demetrios, Harald, Robert, and all the other soldiers of his tagma.

'Stephanos, son of Theodoros, fellow-worker of my servant Ioannes,' the Voice said, gentle and commanding at the same time. 'Rejoice, for your brothers-at-arms rejoice in themselves to join you. Your mission shall not be simple, for you shall be arrayed against forces of darkness unknown in your world. But take heart and fear not, and know that I am with you, even to the end of the age.'

* * *

Markos woke up fully alert and energetic, even more so than he had felt ever before. He had the strangest dream, one where he vowed before the presence of God to aid in the rescue of a world that had fallen to darkness. He got out of his bedroll, strangely hale and light for the early hour of the morning, and saw Gavrilo and their servant Metrios sleeping in their own bedrolls with beatific smiles on their faces.

'Gavrilo,' he said, giving his friend two light tap on the shoulder. 'Gavrilo. Wake up.'

Gavrilo slowly opened his eyes and came to with a yawn.

'Markos,' he said as he left his bedroll. 'I had the strangest dream. There was a beautiful woman being chased by dogs, and then the Voice of God spoke to me and-'

'He spoke of another world engulfed in darkness,' Markos interrupted. 'I had the very same dream.'

'You too, sir?' Metrios asked. He also just woke up.

'Well, that is strange,' Gavrilo remarked. 'Maybe the others had such a dream as well?'

'That was what I was thinking,' Markos said. 'I think we better ask around.'

Markos, Gavrilo and Metrios stepped out to find their fellow soldiers already outside the camp in the foggy pre-dawn, talking with each other and asking around about their strange dream. Markos asked Staurakios, a friend and an infantryman assigned to the nightly watch, what happened. He was told even the soldiers of the watch suddenly fell to a deep sleep in the dead of night and had the same dream, and when they woke up, they saw completely unfamiliar territory.

'But, praise be to God, we're still next to a river,' Staurakios mentioned. 'Try taking a look outside.'

Markos nodded at the suggestion and led his two companions out of the camp's entrance. They looked around and saw unfamiliar forests filled with trees that were not there the night before. They also saw that they were not encamped atop a hill, but on a wide clearing. Immediately outside the camp, they saw Father Makarios kneeling on the ground, hands raised to the air and weeping openly.

'Father Makarios?' Markos said, touching the old priest's shoulder. 'Are you unwell?'

Father Makarios put down his arms, wiped his tears and looked at Markos.

'I am better than that, my child,' he said with a gentle smile. 'Better indeed. You have had the dream, of course, and you have heard Our Lord speak to you. We are blessed, dear children. Blessed above our capacity to understand.' He stood up and made the Sign of the Cross over the three young men to bless them. 'Blessed are you above most, Markos, Gabriel, Metrios. Blessed are we, who have been given a chance to serve the Lord our God in a manner unlike any other men.'

* * *

**I really enjoyed describing all that armour, if you haven't noticed. I like the 11th-12th-century aesthetic of armour best of all. Anyway, welcome to Eostia. Prepare for much exasperation. This chapter ends any connection to my _Medieval II Total War _playthrough, so you won't see enemy generals that gave me a hard time among the Black Dogs or something.**

**As you may have noticed, I'm using Byzantine titles like strategos, allagator, komes, primikerios, and others for Byzantine troops to highlight how foreign they are to the world. The Eostians will be referred to by the more garden-variety ranks of captain, sergeant and general, with lieutenants being more of an honorary rank for older, more respected sergeants. As shown in the prologue, maybe the knights will have more fanciful titles.**

**Francisco Pereira: Here you go. Don't expect too much, though; as I said before, I'm only doing this until it stops distracting me from the next Settra chapter.**

**Aznereth: We'll see the Byzantine equivalent to Deus Vult soon. Some of the guys here might even say Deus Vult in French.**

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: May none find them wanting.**

**Perseus12: Glad to hear it.**

**Dragonheart51: I'll certainly try. Though I must admit they might be a bit idealised thanks to my own Byzaboo tendencies and the story they're in. There will be conflict, though.**

**Carlthompson: That… is a good idea I should have thought of before this. **

**Abuseedboy4926: Thank you.**

**Ylnadiir: Byzaboos are the best kind of -boos.**

**As a last bit of useless trivia, the name _Kalomeros _is not really a Greek surname, or at least not one I know of that has been used. It's the surname some people claim Napoleon's supposedly Greek ancestors originally used before switching to di Bounaparti.**


	3. Contact

**Before ****I begin, I should tell you that I took some liberties in terms of Byzantine army organisation here. ****The term **_**allagion **_**seemed to be ****replacing terms like **_**bandon **_**and **_**moira **_**to refer to cavalry units in the ****Komnenian era and became even more prominent after it, so I used that to refer to independent cavalry companies of one sp****ecific cavalry type. I also used **_**bandon **_**as a sub-division of the allagion, though ****I just made that up ****for convenience. Each allagion in this story ****has 150 horsemen ****and is divided into three banda of 50 each. In the previous chapter, Markos only had 32 men because of ****losses from that previous battle. ****I'll ****try to ****specify**** the ****Byzantine army's composition in a later chapter, ****though for now, I can say they have less than 1,000 horsemen for the moment****.**

**Anyway, ****I once again own nothing. Here's the chapter****. The last part is just part of the prologue told from a different perspective.**

* * *

Chapter II  
First Contact

Dawn broke over the new world, and the sun began to peer out of the eastern horizon to clear away the riverine fog and cast its light upon the riverside clearing the Romans had miraculously appeared in.

After the wonderment brought about by the vision apparently shared by the entire army and the shock of waking up to find their entire camp in a place entirely different from where they encamped the night before, the Roman soldiers returned to their usual routine as oft-drilled discipline cooled the heat of the soldiers' excited hearts and gave them a new sense of purpose.

The soldiers, save a single infantry bandon assigned to sentry duties and a cavalry bandon assigned to scout the perimeter, gathered in one of the open spaces between the tent clusters of the skoutatoi and the akritoi and archers. There, Father Makarios led them in the morning prayers and the singing of hymn to the Most Holy Trinity. The hymn was ancient, and the men singing it had regularly sung it from the time they learned how to speak, even more so when they joined the Emperor's army. However, each man sang the well-remembered words with more heartfelt conviction than before.

The sentries sounded the camp's trumpets to call the soldiers to attention once Father Makarios had blessed the gathered soldiers. The men stood as one, faces front, and already arranged according to their kontoubernia. For a moment, the only sound heard in the camp were the footsteps of Father Makarios as he stepped down from his makeshift platform, the quiet rushing of the river to their west and south, and the sounds of whatever lived in the thick, dark forest that lay on one side of the Roman camp.

Stephanos then stepped onto the platform and swept across the gathered soldiers with a glance. Though he did not show it outwardly, his heart filled with gladness to know that these men, who followed him willingly through the fury of battle and the privations of many campaigns, had come to share this new and most uncommon burden with him.

After taking a small moment to clear his throat and gather his thoughts, the Strategos began to speak.

'Soldiers!' Stephanos called out, his voice echoing through the silent camp, 'Romans! Brothers! Here we stand, at the cusp of a new morning in the soil of a new world. Rejoice, in His glorious wisdom, He who is our Lord and Master did select us as His instruments for the liberation of this world!'

The Romans raised their voice in cheer, filling the previous silence of the morning with mighty roars of adulation. Some soldiers tapped their comrades' shoulders in fellowship, others clasped fists, and many raised their hands to heaven. After a few moments, the Strategos raised his hands to silence his men, and they slowly complied and returned to good order.

'We have all seen the vision, my brothers, of the maiden beset by hounds,' Stephanos continued. 'Its meaning cannot be any clearer. Bright as it may seem this morning, this world is gripped by the deepest darkness, by a great malignancy of the spirit.' Stephanos paused, giving his words a moment to sink into the minds of his men. 'To cure such maladies of the spirit in the past, God sent good men – preachers, saints and martyrs – to show the lost the error of their ways and to lead those who were astray back to His embrace. Yet this time, he sent us – _soldiers _– as the instruments of His will. This means only one this: that such is the corruption of this world that the most expedient means of cleansing it is the fire of battle. Such is the nature of the world we now stand upon.' The Strategos had a longer pause to further choose his words. This time, the camp turned grimly silent, with even the background noise seemingly blotted out in the minds of the soldiers.

'If our Lord requires us to be fire, then _we shall be fire_!' Stephanos declared, raising his right fist for emphasis. 'If this world is so darkened, then let the darkness be fended off by the gleam of our spears and swords!'

The Romans gave yet another cheer, one louder than the previous one. Stephanos again stilled them.

'If any war can be seen as just, then it must be this one we are brought into,' he said. 'Remember now the words of the Emperor Leo the Wise, who wrote thus: A man who acts in defence is truly just himself, and has Divine Justice as his ally in the campaign against the unjust.' Stephanos then looked to heaven, seeing the rays of the rising sun begin to fill the sky. _And with our duty done, _he thought to himself, _we can allow better men, __peaceful men, to become the instruments that will heal the land. _He did not say these words out loud, lest the soldiers interpret it wrongly.

'Our cause is just!' A voice called out from the gathered tagma. Stephanos smiled, immediately recognising the voice of his son. More similar calls followed, and the entire tagma was soon hailing the righteousness of their struggle.

Stephanos raised his hands to catch the men's attention for a final time.

'And now, brothers, I implore you to be worthy of this just cause,' he said. 'I shall strive to put my mind to focus by abstaining from meat and wine for the next three days. Any who so wish may join me in this. Understand that this is not an imposition, and I forbid any in the army from looking down on him who will not join in this abstinence with us. But now, return to your tents to break for fast. I will send for your commanders with the orders of the day shortly.'

With that, Stephanos stepped off the platform, and his soldiers dispersed back to their tents as ordered.

Alexios and Father Makarios caught up with Stephanos as he walked back to his tent, positioning themselves at his left and right.

'A fine speech, Strategos,' Father Makarios said, 'if somewhat vague on the threat we face.'

'I had no choice but to be vague, Father,' Stephanos answered. 'Even now, I have no conception of how terrible our foe must be.'

'True,' Makarios said, nodding. 'Better to be honest and vague than seemingly clear yet deceitful.'

'But I must say that your last declaration is very shrewd indeed, Strategos,' Alexios said with a toothy grin. 'Once you set the example, a large portion of the men will also abstain from wine.'

Stephanos turned to Alexios, a questioning eyebrow raised.

'Is there a problem with the wine?' he asked.

'I'm certain I told you last night,' Alexios slowly said. 'Our stocks of wine are low after the Emperor's victory feast in Caesarea. At best, we have three days' worth left.'

Father Makarios chuckled.

'Huh,' Stephanos said with a shrug. 'It must have slipped my mind.'

* * *

Preliminary efforts of the minisores had revealed to the Romans that their camp appeared at a natural bend near the middle of a large river, which ran to the west and south. The sentries had a fine view of the opposite bank, and surveillance has discovered that the river was too deep to be easily forded, with the nearest shallow point almost a mile to the south. Thus, Stephanos immediately understood that two sides of the camp were more or less secure.

To the north and east of the camp, however, lay a great, dark forest which, for all they knew, stretched for miles and housed hostile elements, be they human or something else. And so, instead of simply sending out a few squadrons of hippo-toxotai to scout and augmenting any missing in their by mounting a few akritoi, he sent one of his two hippo-toxotai allagia – fully half of his mounted archers – to scout in force to the north alongside an allagion of his koursores. He appointed Zeno Kamateros, the more senior Allagator of the Koursores, to lead the operation.

Kamateros, level-headed and cautious like his commander, advanced his 267-strong force slowly. He arranged his forces in two outward-facing semicircles: mail-armoured kousores with lances and shields at the ready in the front, hippo-toxotai with arrows nocked to their bows bringing up the rear. The force moved at a slow trot, careful not to give away their position by disturbing too much of the native wildlife. Each man looked to his front or to the sides, covering the blind spots of the horsemen next to him and alert for any sign of danger.

About an hour passed, and the horsemen kept up their ride in uncomfortable silence. The only sounds heard in the forest were the hoof-steps of their horses on the soft earth, the clattering of wooden scabbards or bows on saddles, the occasional snap of a broken twig, or the ambient sounds of the forest's native life. The bird and insect life in the forest were loud, chirping in their territory as they pleased. The men hoped those sounds would at least partially mask their own noises, but they also worried that they may mask the approach of any enemy. Now and then, a bush or scrub would shake, and some manner of small creature would run out. Some of the men, especially the hippo-toxotai in the central part of the rear, took to occasionally looking downwards, hoping there weren't any serpents in this world.

The forest seemed manageable enough close to the camp, but it grew even denser as the more the horsemen pushed forward. Its canopy was thick enough to place the woods in a state of perpetual twilight even in the light of morning, and the trees and scrubs forced the horsemen to adopt a more staggered formation than they would have liked. Each man had enough room to move and possibly to fight if the need arose, but if disaster struck and they find themselves outmatched, they may have a harder time retreating. As he trudged at the head of his force, Kamateros made a mental note to tell the Strategos that akritoi on foot supported by toxotai might be better scouts deeper into the wood.

A few tense hours passed in the scouts' cautious ride, and the forest they rode through gradually gave way to another large clearing, almost three stadia across. Kamateros ordered his force to stop and take a short respite and a small meal. He arranged them into two concentric circles with the koursores on the outer ring, lances at easy access as they ate and drank. He looked up at the sky and saw the sun close to its peak. He estimated that it must be at least the fifteenth hour of the day. He then called on his officers to the centre of the circle.

'We've gone at least a mile north, but we still seem to have more forest ahead of us,' Kamateros said. 'We can cover more ground if we split up and range by banda. My bandon will take the left-most route and make a lateral route for the river. Pantekhnes, you're with me.'

'Sir!' Pantekhnes, a komes of the hippo-toxotai, replied.

'Eirenikos, you will scout the forest northward straight from the direction of this point. Limpidares will go with you.'

'Yes, sir,' Eirenikos and Limpidares said.

'Kalomeros, you will range north-eastward at a quarter-measure of a circle from this point. You're with Aprenos.'

'Yes, sir,' Markos and Aprenos answered.

'Fan out, search wide. Sound your trumpets at the first sign of trouble. If you spot an enemy force that seems too much for you to handle, sound a retreat. If you get ambushed, sound a retreat _immediately_.' As the Allagator said those words, he looked straight at Markos, as if addressing him directly.

Kamateros kept his eyes at Markos, who kept his expression impassive. 'If you do end up getting engaged by an enemy and prevail, retreat anyway,' he said. 'Do not pursue. Our task is to find out what it is we should fight, not to lose men in needless engagements.' Kamateros then addressed the gathered officers in general. 'This clearing will be our rally point. Enemy contact or no, we meet here by day's end.'

'Permission to ask a question, sir,' Markos said after Kamateros stopped speaking.

'Granted, Komes Kalomeros,' Kamateros replied.

'How are we to know if what we have encountered is the enemy?'

Kamateros squinted his eyes and thought for a moment before speaking.

'For the moment, we must assume that anything that is not ourselves is the enemy,' the Allagator said after some deliberation. He then turned to all of his officers. 'You've all seen the vision, and you all heard the Strategos this morning. This is a world in darkness. I care not if what you see appears to be an angel of light; examine it from a distance, and then fall back if it seems like it noticed. Caution is our greatest virtue here. Am I understood?'

All the officers gave their assent.

'Good. Move out.'

And so moved the Roman cavalry, each according to their banda, onwards through the dim light of the forest.

* * *

Markos's force, 76 strong, continued their trot through the dim light of the forest at a regularly-paced trot, still alert but making better time than before. The forest was seemed to be getting less dense with each passing bowshot, and more light was gradually filtering in through the canopy. Light also streamed in from the front, promising another nearby clearing. The birds also seemed to be getting quieter, though the constant drone of insect life was ever present.

With the forest a bit more manageable, he arranged his horsemen into a triangle consisting of three semicircles, koursores at the front and hippo-toxotai at the rear in each one. He commanded the formation in front, Gavrilo the one on the right, and the Komes Thomas Aprenos the one on the left.

The force had been marching for about an hour when Markos suddenly ordered the formation to halt. He remained silent for a moment, eyes squinted and leaning slightly forward.

'You hear that?' He asked, his voice only a bit louder than a whisper.

'Hear what?' the soldier Andrej, who was at his right, asked. He strapped his shield to his back and tried moving the padded skirt of his helm and his mail hood aside to expose an ear as his commander kept listening, to no avail.

'I think I hear…' Markos began, but the sounds became clearer through the background noise of the forest.

'Barking, yelping,' Lazar, sitting at Markos's right, said. 'Hounds, or something similar. And galloping that sounds like noises. Shouting, even.'

'Yes,' Markos replied. 'Sounds like your regular hunting party.'

The noise of a horse's loud and unmistakably pained whinny confirmed Markos's assertion.

'And it sounds like they're hunting a horse,' Lazar said.

'You don't simply set your hounds upon a horse like that,' Markos said. He lifted his lance and waved it around as a sign for Gavrilo and Thomas to approach him. The two commanders promptly obeyed.

'We reform to a battle formation,' Markos said as Gavrilo and Thomas came within earshot. He turned to Thomas. 'My koursores in a hollow wedge up front, your hippo-toxotai at the flanks. We will ride up as close to the edge of the wood as we can, to see what kind of horse our hunters got.'

'Koursores at the centre and hippo-toxotai at the wings,' Gavrilo repeated. 'You're thinking of charging.'

'Only if it seems like we can take them. We fall back if it seems like there are more of them than of us. We'll sound the retreat when we're deep enough in the forest.'

The two sub-commanders nodded their agreement, and the formation rode as close to the edge of the forest as they dared. Alert as ever for danger, Markos and the others stared at the other side of the clearing.

The Romans saw a human shape – unmistakably female, which much of her femininity exposed for all to see – emerge from of the shadow of the trees on the left side of the clearing. Her unkempt shoulder-length hair was a very distinctive shade of deep red. _S__he's carrying__ a sword_, Markos thought, using all of his willpower to keep his eyes on the innocuous looking sword instead of the positively scandalous appearance of its wielder. The young woman ran with unsteady steps, as if she was at her last burst of energy, and she fell on her knees. She planted her sword on the ground and tried to push herself up, but she stumbled again.

A group of horsemen – no more than two dozen – burst forth from the same direction the woman emerged from. They were all armed with an assortment of spears, axes and swords, and they wore civilian-style clothing plainly dyed black or in some darker shade of green or brown. Some had vests that appeared to be made of cured leather, of all things. Few of the men had shields of various shapes, and fewer still had helmets. All in all, the men gave the impression of being roving bandits or militiamen of the poorer sort than anything resembling a professional armed force. As the men rode, a pack of hounds, large and ferocious, also issued forth from the forest but stayed at its edge, snarling at the Romans.

The men formed a circle around the collapsed woman and dismounted. They talked among themselves, loud enough for the Romans to hear, the tones of their voices filled with cocky bravado. Markos thought their language seemed somewhat similar to what some of the Varangians spoke, though he did not recognise the words. He also saw one of the men – the leader, presumably – kneeling down and grabbing the woman by the face. The Romans then saw him stand up and fiddle with his belt, which made his intentions upon the woman clear as day.

Markos, who placed himself at the head of the wedge, looked at Gavrilo beside him. The Komes cast one brief glance upon the trumpet his friend had hanging from his belt, and there was an unspoken agreement between them. Gavrilo took the trumpet and prepared to sound it. Markos turned left to Thomas.

'Have your men provide a screen, and then secure our flanks,' he ordered.

Thomas nodded and raised his sword to signal the hippo-toxotai on both flanks. At his command, the mounted archers lifted their bows, arrows already nocked, and aimed.

Markos raised his lance pointed it towards the enemy. The hippo-toxotai loosed their arrows as one. A number of the enemies and some of the riderless horses were hit. The other animals, taken by surprise, scattered.

'Now, Romans!' the young Komes called out. 'Forward! To victory!'

Gavrilo gave one loud blast of his trumpet, and the entire force charged.

The koursores crashed out of the woods with a mighty battle cry, their lances couched and their coats of mail glittering in the sun. Markos was at the spear-tip of the charge, the bandon's banner flapping freely as his lance's pennant. The pointed end of the wedge slammed at their enemies with great force, the momentum of the charge causing the disorganised mass of men to buckle immediately. The Romans skewered with their lances until their lances bit too deeply of the enemies' guts, and then they drew their parameria. The blood of these barbarians gave a grim crimson sheen on the clearning's verdant green grass and dark soil. The native men, seeing no other recourse, tried to run back to the darkness of the forest, but they too were cut down and killed with dishonourable wounds in the back.

Before the koursores managed to make contact with the enemies, the swifter hippo-toxotai struck at the hounds from the flanks. They fired as they moved, sending flight after flight of arrows onto beast and men. The dogs, maddened beyond their regular level of aggression, chased after the hippo-toxotai. The mounted archers wheeled their horses around and fell back, shooting while backwards in the manner of the ancient Parthians. The two hippo-toxotai formations assumed a single file and role in an anti-clockwise circle, baiting the beasts in a fruitless chase resembling that of a snake chasing its own tail. Soon, the last hound fell to multiple arrows, and all that is left of the fierce pack are lines of corpses rendered into pincushions.

The first engagement of the Romans in this new world ended in a matter of minutes. There were no losses in their force, and the outnumbered and outmatched enemies were totally destroyed.

Markos and his koursores surrounded the kneeling woman, who watched the entire battle in stupefied shock. The looked up at Markos, said something in her language, and collapsed.

* * *

'What do you think she is?' Markos asked Thomas as they all considered the woman on the ground before them. The bulk of their force were gathered on the clearing, on the lookout for more enemies, while a few volunteers went to look for some of the enemies' surviving horses. Some of the men were recovering lances and arrows from the bodies of the fallen and were cleaning them off. The two officers themselves were dismounted and were holding onto their horses by the reins.

'My first impression would be that she is a woman of ill repute,' Thomas answered, trying his hardest to keep his eyes on the woman's legs below the knees. He noted that the boots she wore resembled armour, for some reason. 'That is the only explanation I can give her choice of attire.'

'Reasonable,' Markos said. 'But that leaves us with a number of questions.' His eyes wandered from the woman's sword to her face. _Beautiful_, he thought, and he forced himself to focus his sight on her strange red hair. _Her hair seem__s__ to have been tied up recently. __Did it get loose in her flight? _he thought. 'For instance, she ran all the way to this forest to wherever she came from just to escape the barbarians who sought to defile her,' Markos said, turning to Thomas. 'One would think a prostitute would not run from potential customers. And there was that thing she said before she fell unconscious. I am no speaker in their native tongue, but I would be willing to wager what she said was "help me" or something similar.'

'Perhaps she is not a prostitute of her own will,' Thomas said. 'Such things are possible even in our world.'

Markos nodded. 'I have another explanation, though, he said.' He pointed at the woman's arms and boots. 'Notice that these parts of her are fully clothed,' he said. 'While the rest are not. I believe she was caught by those men previously, and they tore off her clothing. She managed to secure a horse, but she was forced to run on foot when it got caught by the hounds.'

'That seems more likely,' Thomas agreed.

'Well, whatever she is, what do we do with her?' Gavrilo asked as he rode up to the two officers. He handed Markos his lance and Thomas a number of arrows. 'The men have recovered what weapons they can. We also captured seven of the barbarians' horses.'

'We take her back with us,' Markos said. 'She has information about this world that we do not possess.'

'Is that wise, Komes?' Thomas asked. 'Allagator Kamateros ordered us to treat all foreign entities as enemies.'

'Then she is a prisoner,' Markos shrugged. 'But really, Komes Aprenos, would you leave a defenceless woman out here in the woods?'

Thomas made a motion of fixing his cap and turban as he thought. 'If you put it that way…'

'How do we carry her?' Gavrilo asked. 'We can barely look at her. And with our divinely-ordained mission fresh in everyone's minds, I don't think any of the men would be willing to touch her.'

'Hmmm…' Markos placed a hand on his chin and looked at Thomas. _A hippo-toxotes's __coat is possible to remove… _he thought._ No, I'll not __deprive one of the men of their protection._ He then looked at some of the corpses.

'This seems quite unclean, but let's take reasonably intact clothing from some of the woman's pursuers to cover her up,' he said. 'Better that than to leave her in shame in a camp full of men.'

Thomas, however, was looking at one of the horses they captured, which was carrying a rolled-up sack. He motioned for one of the men to bring the horse to them, took the sack, and unrolled it. It turned out to be a rough blanket.

'That will do instead,' Markos said. He helped Thomas cover up the woman and noticed that she also had a dagger hanging from the belt she wore above that scandalously small piece of cloth she had that covered her womanhood. He scooped up the woman in his arms and turned to Gavrilo.

'Secure her on one of the captured horses and pull,' he ordered. 'I put you in charge of her safety. Oh, and have some men take some of the more intact corpses for examination.' Gavrilo nodded and took the woman.

Markos and Thomas then mounted their horses. Markos looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was starting to set. He raised his lance and waved the bloodied banner to signal his men to gather.

'We've done fine work here, gentlemen,' he said to his gathered soldiers. 'But we're running late. We head back at speed. The Strategos will have to know what we did here.'

* * *

**And there we go. The plot certainly is moving faster than the Settra one, I'll admit that much. And if you're wondering about the twentieth hour and other times like that, I also made up the idea that the Byzantine military use 24-hour times like modern militaries do instead of dividing day and night into 12 each. Those bits about the fifteenth hour and the day's end are caused by the fact that the Byzantine day starts at sunset instead of midnight.**

**Edboy4926: Thank you.**

**Perseus12: For now, this is how the Byzantines will interact with the natives of Eostia. And pairing. Oh boy. Isn't that the giant, cataphract-armoured war elephant in the room. Past experience has taught me that I'm actually no good at writing romance, but at least one pairing is, in fact, in the works. The problem is I don't know how and who for the moment. Stephanos is both old and still committed to the memory of his dead wife, so certainly not him. Probably Alicia or something.**

**Ylnadiir: I agree, casual blasphemy isn't in my list of priorities. I'll only make reference to His Name if it is fitting or historically accurate to do so. Admittedly, though, given how steeped in religion the Byzantine army was due to how they viewed war, that's still going to be a lot. As for languages, I actually had three different plans for that. The first one was the Byzantines being able to miraculously speak Eostian, which I rejected because that would be too convenient and wouldn't really give credence to their status as foreigners to the world. The second was that the Eostians spoke Japanese. I rejected that because that would make translation between the Byzantines and Eostians too difficult. I settled with my third plan, which is that the Eostians spoke the universal language of all fantasy: modern-day English. That's why Markos noticed the Black Dogs kind of spoke like Varangians (Anglo-Saxons started joining the Varangian Guard by the Komnenian era alongside the usual Scandinavians and Russians). The high elves and upper class have another language that's a bit closer to home, though.**

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: That sounds like a Crusader-esque thing to say. The Byzantines had no conception of 'holy war' the way the Catholics and Muslims fought it. Instead, they often treated war as a necessary evil they didn't really like but had to do because everyone else is trying to kill them. They did have a well-developed concept of a just war, though, which is a defensive war or a war to reclaim lost imperial territories. That said, they also believed in heavenly rewards for soldiers who defended the empire, but that's for martyrdom and not really for killing the heretic.**

**Aznereth: Settra was actually originally supposed to appear in these same circumstances. My difficulty with the Settra story is that I have to balance making it about him and making sure he isn't in the main plot until it really gets rolling. Otherwise, he'd be far too magnificently powerful for me to have a plot.**

**Marquis Cornelius: Thank you. I enjoy making the dialogue too.**

**Mr. What If: Deus 'vault' indeed.**

**Tune in again. Next time, the Romans will learn what it is they are actually supposed to fight. And in the chapter after that, we get an actual fight instead of this tiny ambush. Yay.**


	4. The Nature of the Foe

**This chapter has some of that 'boring exposition' I warned you in the summary about. ****It also contains cultural misunderstandings. ****Oh, and did I say the Eostians spoke 'modern' English last time. ****By that, I meant the fantasy version of 'modern' English, which means it can be easily translated to 12-century English ****and then to Medieval Greek if you believe hard enough.**

**Also, due to linguistic differences ****and my unwillingness to repeatedly point out that Father Makarios is translating things, I ****did some formatting. All sentences that have quotation marks (' ') and are in Italics are spoken in a language the ****viewpoint character doesn't understand. '**_**This sentence is in a language you don't know.**_**' ****That only applies for entire sentences, though. ****Italicised sentences without quote marks are still thoughts and not spoken dialogue ****while Italics in spoken sentences are just for emphasis****.**

* * *

Chapter III  
The Nature of the Foe

'Good morning, Komes Kalomeros,' Stephanos said with a formal, impassive expression. 'I assume you understand why you are here.'

'Yes, sir,' Markos answered with the same formality. He saw that there were others present besides his father and Uncle Alexios.

Markos was called to the command tent of the Roman camp the morning after the scouting mission. The Allagator Kamateros's force of two allagia returned from the mission late in the evening with one prisoner, seven horses, and a number of rolled-up corpses in tow. Each of the expedition's Komites submitted testimonies of any scrap of information they managed to find, all put together in Kamateros's written report.

Stephanos found the testimony of Markos, who had encountered hostile natives of the world and brought a prisoner back to camp, the most interesting. Thus, Markos was called to meet the senior commanders of the tagma immediately after the army said its morning prayers and broke its fast.

Upon entering the tent, Markos saw that his father was seated behind a large parchment-filled table at the far end of the tent. _No__t one__ sign of breakfast_, he thought as he gave a short glance at the table. _Is he eating well?_ This was the first time the young Komes saw Stephanos up close since the celebrations after Caesarea, and he saw that his father seemed to have looked a bit more invigorated, younger, even, since they came to this new world.

Standing at his father's right was his ever-redoubtable second, Demetrios, who greeted Markos with a nod. A robustly-built man with a great beard, Demetrios is one who taught Markos how to ride and fight in his teenage years, after his father's appointment to governorship over Trebizond made him less able to train his young son himself.

At Stephanos's left was Markos's Uncle Alexios, slimmer and slightly shorter than Demetrios, but with shining, inquisitive eyes that he almost always saw in a curious squint. Though a capable enough fighter and commander in his own right, Markos knew that Alexios was more in his element as an engineer and mathematician. The only reason his uncle is in the army and not writing treatises, Markos knew, were his talent for logistics and organisation, and his great interest – bordering on obsession – with the use of siege engines. Alexios also greeted Markos with a nod and gave a brief smile in breach of military protocol.

Beside his father's two most senior commanders were two others. To Demetrios's right was the Varangian Harald Olafsson, a grey-eyed, grim-faced giant who still wielded his order's famous two-handed axe despite currently not being on-duty. Harald was an unknown element to most of the other officers and men of the tagma, though they knew him by reputation. Markos himself fought alongside him in Caesarea, and he thought the Northman's skill at arms spoke much about his worth as a comrade.

To Alexios's left was another foreigner, the Frenchman Robert de Brienne of the Latinikon, brown-haired and blue-eyed with a ready smile. As both a Frank and a Catholic, the knight should have been looked at with suspicion among the Roman ranks, but his sense of easy-going fellowship and bravery in battle led the men to respect him more than they did most Franks. Markos heard some rumours of de Brienne secretly being baptised to Orthodoxy and being disowned by his family in France, but he said nothing to confirm or deny such talk. Markos did notice, however, that he suddenly stopped receiving letters from home some time during the war.

'As the commander of the only force to encounter native enemies so far, additional insights regarding them would be most valuable to us,' Stephanos said. 'Those enemies you faced. What were they like?'

'I must admit that I saw very little of the barbarians, Strategos,' Markos said. 'Little more than anyone. I can assure you of what Allagator Kamateros wrote in the report, though: they were certainly men and beasts.'

'The surgeons attested as much, Strategos,' Alexios remarked.

'Aye, but those dogs aren't anything like I have seen in my life,' Robert also said. 'Larger and more muscular than what I am used to.' He shook his head. 'What evil-looking creatures they must have been in life.'

'How well did they fight, then?' Stephanos asked.

'Not very well,' Markos said. 'We outnumbered them greatly, and we took them by surprise just as they were about to do some manner of evil upon the woman we took to camp. They fought for a bit, tried to escape, and were cut down before they managed to flee to the forest. They did not seem to adopt conventional formations, and their weapons also had no uniformity. I give credit to Komes Thomas Aprenos of the hippo-toxotai for luring their dogs to a chase and securing our flanks.'

'Those said weapons you brought back would not look so out of place in the hands of common soldiers working for the French or the English,' Robert remarked.

'Or the Norse,' Harald added.

Stephanos nodded in acknowledgement. 'What did their command structure seem like?' he asked.

'They had no uniforms and did not have a visible leader. One man went to taunt their prisoner first, so I assumed he was in command.'

'And so you had him shot first,' Demetrios said in approval. 'All as per the manuals.'

'So these men had no uniforms, no clear leader, and no uniformity of weapons,' Stephanos said. 'I can see now why the report suggests they were bandits.'

'The horses would suggest otherwise, Strategos,' Alexios noted. 'They are fine-quality stallions, seemingly bred for war.'

'No common brigand would be able to afford such beasts,' Robert added. 'And the report suggests the entire force of two-dozen was mounted…'

'Strange indeed,' Stephanos said, rubbing his beard with his right hand while he tapped the table with the fingers of his left hand. Markos recognised that as action as a gesture of thought. 'Perhaps our prisoner can elucidate the facts for us. What can you tell about her?'

'Very little as well,' Markos admitted. 'She ran out of the woods and fell to the ground in exhaustion shortly before the men caught up with her. The men undoubtedly meant to force themselves upon her, judging by her state of undress.'

Stephanos nodded. 'You mentioned something about armour regarding her?'

'Yes,' Markos said. 'What little of her clothes remained resembled armour, which suggests at least some military background. Shoulder guards and heavy kheiropsella, as well as knee-high metal boots and armour plates guarding the kneecaps. She also had metal fasteners along the chest and hips. Their purpose is unknown, but they probably serve to hold her clothing together. She was also armed with a bloodstained sword and a dagger strapped to a belt on her hips.'

'The belt is still buckled with the rest of her attire gone,' Harald mused. 'Strange.'

'Perhaps it is some kind of concealed weapon?' Demetrios offered. Harald nodded slowly, as if he thought the explanation sounded somewhat reasonable yet not entirely convincing.

'The report says you took her in as a prisoner,' Stephanos said.

'Allagator Kamateros ordered us to treat all foreign forces as enemies until proven otherwise,' Markos explained. 'He believed caution to be proper in this unknown territory.'

'Proper indeed,' Harald said.

'She will have her chance to explain her self, enemy or no,' Stephanos said. 'I have sent Father Makarios to ascertain her condition.'

'Father Makarios?' Robert asked. 'The report says the native spoke in a manner similar to the Varangians. Perhaps it may have been better to have sent some of them instead?'

'The Emperor's Varangians will not wait upon the needs of a possible enemy, Jarl de Brienne,' Harald said. He kept his tone neutral, but Markos noted at least some measure of menace in his words.

'Father Makarios has his own expertise with the Varangian tongues,' Stephanos said, trying to conciliate between the two foreign commanders. 'He presided over the Church of St Elias in Constantinople in his younger days.' Harald nodded as if he already knew.

'I see,' Robert said. 'And I understand the principle. If I were a frightened young maiden in a strange tent, the first person I would want to see would be a kindly old grandfather, not one or more of the Emperor's fiercest warriors.'

'You, a maiden, Count de Brienne?' Demetrios asked. 'Do all Frankish maidens have as well-groomed moustaches as you?'

With that remark, the men in the tent, save the ever protocol-bound Varangian, could not help but chuckle.

The men fell silent after one of the guards outside peered his head in the tent.

'Father Makarios here with the prisoner to see you, my lords,' the guard said.

'Send them in,' Stephanos said, gesturing at the guard.

'Am I required to leave, then, Strategos?' Markos asked.

'Stay, by all means,' Stephanos answered. 'You may be able to confirm or contest whatever our guest tells us.'

* * *

As she approached the large tent at the heart of this fortified tent-city its inhabitants insisted was a 'camp', Eliza told herself for the umpteenth time today that she truly had no idea what she had gotten into.

The old priest seemed kind enough, she admitted. He assured her he meant no harm, asked her if she was unhurt, gave her a drink and breakfast, and even apologised for any discomfort the soldiers who rescued her might have caused in the ride back. He spoke to her of a few things such as her native city, her order and how she came to be a warrior, and he listened with the same warm smile he showed when she awoke. Truthfully, she found herself even enjoying speaking with the old man. It was as if her grandfather was alive again.

The old priest also told her about his people, the _Rhomaioi_, and how they were apparently transported to this land and given a divine mission to liberate it from the evil that assails it. She had her doubts, especially since the one symbol of the foreigners' faith she saw seemed… well, _foreign_, but if these men are as devout warriors of the Goddess as the priest implies they are, then that makes them better than the Black Dogs, at least.

When Eliza was eating her breakfast, Father Makarios told her that the army's commander invited – _invited _– her to his tent to answer some of his questions regarding the land. She was understandably wary of being alone with a strange man whose intentions she did not know, so she did not answer immediately. The priest then offered to come with her, both to offer support and to translate her words, especially since the commander did not speak Eostian.

Eliza honestly did not know what to expect of this commander, this _Stephanos Kalomeros_. Father Makarios gave him a positively glowing description, that he was a pious man, a wise general and a _sebastos_, a high-ranking nobleman in the empire of the _Rhomaioi _thanks to his own merits.

Being herself the daughter of a noble house that had fallen on hard times, that description gave Eliza little comfort. She knew nobles can be any type of person, from despicable lechers like the man her parents were almost forced to marry her off to to paragons of virtue who truly lived up to the term _noble _like the famed Claudia Levantine or Princess Alicia herself. To her great disappointment, she found that the latter type of nobles are becoming more of a rarity in those times. Still, if Father Makarios spoke glowingly of this Kalomeros man, he could not be that bad, right?

The commander's tent, the largest and most central part of the camp, was a short walk from the healer's tent. As they walked, Eliza saw the clear outline of palisade walls arranged in a square and first thought that the camp was far too small for an army, especially one meant to save the world.

When she asked Father Makarios what lay outside the palisade, she learned that the _Rhomaioi _built entire pens for live cattle and pack animals, which the priest said might number somewhere around two thousand all in all, possibly more. Outside that, he said, were the tents of the cavalry close enough to the makeshift stables for their horses. Beyond that were the infantry, their tents arranged according to company. Beyond _that_, the priest explained, was a thick earthen wall with four entrances, and beyond it a large, trap-filled ditch. And beyond even _that _lay a wide square perimeter surrounded by caltrops and small bells to alert the inhabitants of approaching enemies. Overall, Eliza knew she had seen _towns _smaller than this camp.

The knight and the priest finally reached the large pavilion that housed Kalomeros. Father Makarios greeted the tent's two guards, and one of them informed the tent's occupant of something before saying something to the priest, likely telling him to go ahead inside. While all this was happening, Eliza got her first good look of the soldiers of the _Rhomaioi_. She looked at the two guards with undisguised awe and saw that they seemed to be clad almost fully in metal, with coats made of small interlinking metal chains, vests with metal scales sewn into them, and conical yet rounded metal helms with more of that metal-cloth hanging from the side. _Metal __coats_, she thought. So_ this is why the horsemen seemed to shine __back then. I wonder how they __sew them_. She wondered how strong the _Rhomaioi _must be to be able to carry such weight and still fight as well as they did in the forest.

The one guard who remained still seemed not to notice Eliza's scrunity, keeping his eyes forward and his hands on his spear and shield.

'You may come in,' Father Makarios called in from within the tent, and the two guards moved their spears from the entryway with perfect synchronicity. Taking a deep breath and silently praying to the Goddess for luck, Eliza stepped into the tent and stood beside Father Makarios.

Instead of one noble she had very mixed feelings towards, Eliza saw six of them.

The six certainly looked like experienced warriors, their proud postures, confident gazes and sheathed swords hanging from belts slung across their shoulders marking them out. They also had richly embroidered tunics, a far cry from the plainer, more functional native attire, and seemingly more at home in a ballroom than a military camp. The big, blonde monster of a man standing in the right-most corner, who carried an axe and had a black bird stitched onto his tunic, caught her attention immediately by virtue of him being the largest in the room, more than a head taller than her.

The knight then turned her attention to the man sitting in the middle of the group, who had his hands folded over a great mess of parchments. _So this is the famous Kalomeros_, she thought.

Eliza estimated that the man was about in his mid to late forties. He certainly _looked _noble, with his fine appearance, high cheekbones and aquiline nose. The visible care lines in his forehead and streaks of greying hair in his temples, which stood out from his wavy brown hair, spoke of a life of deep thought and many cares. He had a short, neat beard that covered a strong jaw and a similarly neat moustache. His brown eyes suggested deep, meditative wisdom, or perhaps some deep-seated sadness. The last thing she noticed was that he wore a necklace with a symbol similar to what Father Makarios was wearing, though much simpler in design and wooden instead of silver.

'_My lords_,' the priest said in his native language, gesturing at her with a hand. '_This is Lady Eliza of Feoh, Knight of Iris._' Eliza did a curtsy in greeting, which the six men regarded with curious looks.

Kalomeros smiled at Eliza. '_I welcome you, __Lady Eliza, __to our Roman camp_,' he said, duly translated by Father Makarios. '_I am Stephanos Kalomeros, general of this host._' Eliza smiled and nodded, but there was something about the man's language that seemed oddly familiar to her.

'I- Thank you, sir,' she replied with a nod, still thinking about where she heard their language before.

'_Of course, Father Makarios has already told you that we are foreigners to this land_,' Kalomeros continued._ '__If you will allow it,__I wish to ask you some __questions regarding this __land and the evil that assails it._'

Eliza nodded again. The language of the _Rhomaioi _still bothered her with its seeming familiarity, but try as she might, she could not place it. Instead, she focussed on one thing Kalmoeros said: they want to know of the threat to this land.

_Maybe I could still fulfil my mission like this_, she thought.

'Of course, sir,' Eliza said. 'I already owe you my thanks for your rescue. I will tell you everything you wish to know.'

Kalomeros smiled and shook his head.

'_I welcome the sentiment, but if you have to thank anyone for your rescue, thank him_,' he said, turning his face to the man standing furthest from him to the left.

The man Kalomeros referred to was the youngest in the group, and the only one among them who was clean-shaven. He somewhat resembled the old general, but with a sharper nose, a slightly more pointed jaw, a more open expression, and bright green eyes instead of weary-looking brown ones.

'_The Captain Markos Kalomeros_,' the older Kalomeros introduced. The younger man, Markos, apparently, smiled and gave a respectful bow. _Definitely his son, _Eliza thought. _Or at the very least, his nephew_.

'I thank you again, sir,' the knight said.

'_My men and I merely did our duty,' _Markos said. Eliza thought that even his voice sounded every bit as confident as he looked. _'To leave a lady to the hands of wicked men would shame us as men_.'

Eliza could not help but smile. She prayed to the Goddess for her not to blush like a shy maid and make herself look like fool before these strangers, but a small blush still made its way on her face. _Both kind and noble_, she thought. _Nothing like the Black Dogs at all._

'_Firstly, Lady Eliza_,' Kalomeros said after the pleasantries were finished, '_I will have you tell us of this land's name, its history, and how it is governed_.'

Eliza's brow furrowed at the question, but she quickly kept her expression neutral. She dearly hoped none of the men noticed. _They don't even know the name of the land? _She thought. _All of Serenus should know of us, at least._

Amidst all of her questioning, though, a small hopeful thought kept growing in strength. _If they __are as foreign as it seems, that means they do not know of the Black Dogs,_ she thought. _I may get them to help Feoh if I cooperate_.

Keeping her own questions to herself, she cleared her throat and spoke slowly, both for the sake of Father Makarios's translation and so she can choose her words with the utmost care.

'This land is known as Eostia, my lords,' Eliza began. 'It is situated in the region of Eos, the western part of the continent Serenus.' She saw Kalomeros nod in understanding, though his expression told her nothing about whether he already knew where Eos or even Serenus are. She continued her explanation nonetheless. 'In the past, the land contained eight kingdoms of men, halflings, beast-people, and elves.'

The man to the right of Kalomeros, the stout, broad-faced one, said something. The thin, shifty-looking man to Kalomeros's left said something else. Eliza turned to Father Makarios to try and make sense of what they said.

'They ask about those elves and halflings you mentioned,' the priest said. 'Do you mean to say there are other races here who possess minds and consciences like that of men?'

'Um… Uh, yes, that's what I mean,' Eliza said, a little puzzled at the priest's description.

'Such a question must seem quite simple to you, who grew up in a land such as this,' the priest said. 'But it is a wonder to us, who lived in a land populated solely by men.'

The answer simply brought more questions to Eliza's mind. _An empire made up only of men? How is that possible? How did they learn of metalworking? How did they organise? How did they know of the gods?_

Kalomeros brought the knight out of her reverie.

'_Pertinent questions, yes. If you may, Lady Eliza, describe these "halflings", "beast-people" and "elves" for us._'

Eliza nodded. Her heartbeat was starting to quicken, and her palms were starting to get sweaty. _Give the__se men__ the wrong impression and they may think us unworthy of help_, she thought.

'The halflings are a race that resemble human children, but are stronger of arm and keener of mind,' she explained. 'They are known as peerless craftsmen and are intensely proud of their work. It was through them that men adopted the ways of writing and metalworking, and they remain among the greatest inventors and smiths of the land.' Kalomeros nodded. The axe-bearing giant whispered a single word, which to her sounded something like _dvergr_.

'The elves surpass the other races in beauty, lifespan and wisdom,' Eliza continued. 'They can live for hundreds of years and are gifted in the nobler pursuits of poetry and dance, as well as the magical arts.' She heard the standing men muttering among themselves. _What is this, then_, she thought. _Will they next tell me that their empire knows nothing of magic_? No explanation was forthcoming after a moment, so she continued. 'They are known as the most blessed of the races.'

Eliza paused for a bit and cleared her throat, trying to think of a way to explain the enigma of the beast-people in an accurate yet acceptable way. Most of the other races tend to be suspicious of the beastmen for their supposed relations with demons, and the beastmen, with a few exceptions, are suspicious of all the others and live in the fringes of the Alliance.

'The beast-people…' the knight said slowly, carefully considering her words. 'Are an ancient and highly varied race. They resemble… beasts in the shape of men.' The men remained in thoughtful silence, and Kalomeros gestured for Eliza to continue. She hesitated, half-expecting one of them to declare the beast-people abominations. 'They are also a mystery to all, even to themselves. Some say they were the first of the intelligent races in the continent. Others say they were special animals that managed to imitate the forms and speech of men. They are highly insular as a race, but some of them have managed to become highly valued members of our cities.' As she spoke, the image of the porcine Mortadella merchant brothers of Ur and their vast wealth came to her mind.

'_And what of the men_?' Markos asked. '_What is the place of our kind in this land_?'

'The men are the most numerous and resourceful of the races,' Eliza replied. 'What the halflings and elves have built, we have adopted and changed to fit our use. We are also the most numerous of the races, so we make up the bulk of the Seven Shield Alliance.'

Kalomeros's eyes narrowed in thought. Eliza started wondering what he might be thinking of. _Which of the races might be easiest to enslave? Whether the men of Eostia are truly men by their standards? How these races may affect their supposed divine mission?_

'_Tell us of this Seven Shield Alliance_,' the general said.

_This is one of the most important parts, Eliza_, the knight mentally told herself. She was starting to shiver. _Put the Alliance in even a slightly bad light, they may think us unworthy of their aid. _

'The eight kingdoms of Eostia have always lived in a cycle of war and peace as their fortunes grew, prospered, and floundered,' Eliza said. 'However, centuries ago, the kingdom of the dark elves, Garan, fell under the rule of their Dark Queen.' She paused, hesitant to say the name that caused so much suffering in their lands. 'Olga Discordia,' she managed to hiss out. She saw that all of the men saw through the emotion in her delivery. She took a deep breath to still herself before continuing.

'The Dark Queen despised the races of men, beast, and halflings and declared war on the human kingdoms of Feoh, Ur, Thorn, Geofu, Ansur, and the halfling city of Rad. The elves were never the most numerous of the races and the dark ones were rarer still, but they commanded great and terrible magics. The Dark Queen herself is known as the greatest of sorceresses, unmatched by any mortal in any kingdom. The dark elves unleashed their powers upon the men and halflings of the south. War raged for a hundred years, and only the high elves of Ken, who nonetheless ventured forth to heal the wounded and ill with their magic and cure broken spirits with their songs, remained aloof of the war.'

'_A hundred years of war_,' the man to the right of Markos, who had lighter brown hair and a polished, well-groomed look, said. '_It is almost beyond belief. __I can only imagine the suffering it caused on your people_.'

'Indeed,' Eliza said with a nod. 'The six kingdoms of men and halflings only managed to drive back the Dark Queen's minions after much sacrifice. However, at the cusp of the victory of men and halflings, the Dark Queen enacted her most heinous crime yet. It was said that a circle of dark elf sorceresses sacrificed ten thousand human and halfling prisoners in a dark ritual. After the ritual was completed, a great Black Fortress arose in the middle of Garan, which began sucking the life out of the kingdom's lands to power its master, the Dark Queen. And alongside the Black Fortress emerged the abominable hordes of demonkind.'

The stout man standing to the right of Kalomeros hissed something through gritted teeth. The giant to his left remained impassive, but Eliza could feel a sense of menace from the way he narrowed his eyes. The fair-haired man's expression turned into a frown. Kalomeros, the slender man standing to his left, Markos, and even Father Makarios made a curious gesture: they used the thumbs, forefingers, and middle fingers of their right hands to touch their foreheads, bellies, right shoulders, and left shoulders.

'Demons in the flesh,' The giant said in perfect Eostian. 'So such is the foe we face.' Slight differences in inflection still betrayed his foreign origins, but his smoother delivery of words showed he was more at ease with the language than Father Makarios was. More questions raced in Eliza's mind.

_He speaks Eostian! How does he speak Eostian so well? Is this some kind of elaborate deception? Do they all speak Eostian?_

'_Please, continue_,' Kalomeros said, again snapping Eliza out of her reverie. The knight looked at the general of the _Rhomaioi_ and saw his brow furrowed, his eyes narrow and his jaw clamped in tension, his once-relaxed features becoming more focussed. This, above all else, proved to the knight that Father Makarios was not lying when he said the _Rhomaioi _were holy warriors sent to liberate the land. The warmth of hope started to bloom in her chest. _Maybe I _can _get them to help…_

'Y-y-yes,' Eliza said. 'The demonic legions brought greater suffering to Eostia. Upon their entry into the war, even many of the dark elves came to their senses and fled Garan, scattering all over the continent. Some of them even ended up south and turned on the Dark Queen herself. Still, the new demonic legion slaughtered all that opposed them and defiled all that they touched. Even Ken, which had long been untouched by war and welcomed all those who took refuge in it, began to fall under attack.'

Kalomeros nodded but remained silent. Eliza continued her tale.

'However, when all hope seemed lost, she appeared among the high elves of Ken: Her Holiness Celestine Lucross, the Goddess Incarnate.'

There was yet another pause. Even Father Makarios's translation faltered a little when he reached the title of the Goddess. Kalomeros gripped his wooden pendant. The man at his left again repeated that curious action with his hand.

Eliza was more relaxed at the silence this time, at least. The _Rhomaioi_, being holy warriors, should know of the holy Goddess, and would of course treat her with due reverence. She knew that the intensity of the men's expressions was simply them realising the importance of their mission. She also thought that the action some of them did earlier was possibly some sort of prayer or ward against evil.

'_The tide of war changed then, I assume?_' Kalomeros asked.

'Indeed it did,' Eliza said with a smile. 'Her Holiness used her divine powers to drive the Dark Queen and her demons back to Garan. She then gathered the elves, halflings and men into the Seven Shield Alliance.'

Eliza did not know it, but her voice grew steadier, livelier, and even prouder as she spoke her next words, which she remembered well from her childhood lessons.

'She honoured the houses of Arcturus and Fiorire, ruling houses of Feoh and Ur, and made their heads the first two Shields of the Alliance after herself,' she began. 'She raised lords and stewards to rule over Geofu and Ansur in place of their extinct royal lines and made them into Shields as well. She befriended the halflings of Rad and gained their eternal loyalty, and she gave their chief the honour of being a Shield. The seventh seat of the Alliance was given to the chief priestess of the mystics of the eastern city of Thorn. Her Holiness oversaw the expansion of Rad and the building of six other great fortress-cities to defend the people against the demon tides. Under her guidance, the seven kingdoms of Eostia raised troops, founded holy orders of knights, and fought as one, driving back the demon hordes in a great Hundred-Year War.'

'Yet the demons remained,' the giant mused, sounding utterly unimpressed by Eliza's delivery.

'Y-yes,' Eliza said, deflated.

'_Where are these demons now_?' Kalomeros asked. '_How goes the war_?'

Eliza exhaled again, feeling a pang of sorrow at the most recent events.

'Terribly,' she admitted, shaking her head. 'We were once again on the brink of victory. The demons were pushed back and the Alliance, though battered by war, were prepared to bring down the Black Fortress and bring the Dark Queen to justice. At the vanguard were the Black Dogs, the largest of our mercenary armies. When they finally reached the Black Fortress, they did overthrow the Dark Queen, but they betrayed the Alliance and entered some kind of unholy pact with the demons. The other mercenary companies that followed the Black Dogs to Garan were either annihilated or joined with the traitors.'

Kalomeros remained silent but lowered his head, the emotion in his shadowed eyes becoming unreadable. Markos's otherwise pleasant face was being contorted into a feral snarl. The fair-haired man rested his hand upon the hilt of his sword. Two of the _Rhomaioi _muttered things under their breath. Even gentle Father Makarios's expression turned grave.

For her part, Eliza felt her heart beat more insistently and her heart start to race. She can tell that the men were starting to get angry. Part of her felt some relief that their wrath was directed at the Black Dogs, but she was intimidated nonetheless. After all, they were all strangers to the land, and they were all armed. Who knew, perhaps it was a custom in their empire to kill bearers of bad news…

'The Black Dogs… The Black Dogs declared the formation of a new empire built upon the principle that all women must… must serve the lusts of all men,' she said with much hesitation. She looked at Kalomeros and saw the tension in his jaw. She could have sworn he was grinding his teeth.

'And they have led an army to… Feoh, my home,' Eliza continued. The men remained in contemplative silence, as if hanging on to every word she said. 'This is why I was in the forest in the first place. I was among a small group of knights sent along a secret path to get help from our sister-city of Ur.' Try as she might to resist, tears started welling in her eyes. 'The location of the secret path was betrayed, though, and the enemy ambushed us after about half a day's ride. My sergeant other companions… they were… taken. I can only hope they were not taken alive.' The knight lowered her head and closed her eyes.

'And so your home is in danger and you wish us to help it,' the giant said. His voice was cold and harsh as a winter wind, and his tone showed neither sympathy nor criticism. Eliza could do nothing but nod. Her tears were flowing freely by then.

He said something in the language of the _Rhomaion_, possibly addressing Kalomeros. Eliza remained silent, but chest felt heavy. That tone told her that she may have failed her mission.

Kalomeros's next words lifted her spirits up, though.

'_Indeed, __Captain Olafsson_,' he said, duly translated by Father Makarios. '_But her __words are__ the only lead we have. We must consider it_.'

Eliza looked hopefully at Kalomeros. She took a moment to steal a brief glance at Markos, and another small blush appeared on her face when she saw the look of concern on the young captain. She focussed all her attention on the general once more.

'_I thank you for your testimony, Lady Eliza_,' Kalomeros said with a smile. '_And I commend your __dedication to duty __in this most desperate of times. You may return to __the physician's tent to rest. __I __will discuss your request for __assistance_.'

Eliza managed to smile through her tears.

'T-thank you, sir,' she said. 'That you consider helping us is more than I can ask for. B-but all I can say is… that is, Feoh…' She trailed off.

Father Makarios said something, possibly continuing her statement for her.

'I have stressed the dire situation of your home, my lady,' he said when he turned to her.

With nothing more to say, Eliza curtsied at Kalomeros and his companions again and left, followed by Father Makarios. She felt better than she did when she entered, yet heavy thoughts of the very real possibility of denial of her request weighed on her mind.

* * *

'Well, gentlemen, that was quite a tale,' Stephanos said moment after Father Makarios and the red-haired woman, Lady Eliza of Feoh, her name apparently was, left the tent.

'Indeed, sir,' Demetrios replied as he and the rest of the officers gathered around Stephanos's table. 'Do you think it genuine?'

'I see no reason for the lady to deceive us,' Stephanos said. He turned his eyes to see behind Demetrios and saw Markos starting to make his way out of the tent.

'Where might you be going, Komes Kalomeros?' he asked. 'I believe I have not yet dismissed you.'

Markos stopped in his tracks and looked back at his father.

'I believe I am not of a high enough rank to have a voice in your discussion, Strategos,' he said.

'Nonsense,' Alexios said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'You also heard the lady's tale, and we have about as much experience with this world as you do, perhaps even less. Your opinion is as valued as t he rest of ours in this case.'

'Your uncle speaks rightly, son,' Stephanos said. 'Join us.'

A small smile crept up in Markos's face. 'Thank you, father,' he said, walking up to the table to join his superiors.

'You think we are not being deceived, Sebastos?' Harald asked. 'We are foreigners in a foreign land. There are any number of reasons why a native of these lands would deceive us.'

'Indeed there are,' Stephanos said with a nod, 'if the natives are aware of our presence. We were transported here by divine will, suddenly and without warning. I believe none of the natives know we are here.'

'Perhaps their witches have found out,' Harald replied.

'If we keep thinking like that, Primikerios, we will end up unmoving, holed up here, perhaps until it is too late,' Robert said. Harald nodded, accepting the argument.

'But I must say that even I have some issues with the tale,' Demetrios said. 'What manner of man would be insane enough to build an empire solely on the principle of raping women?'

'What manner of man would be insane enough to consort with demons?' Alexios remarked with a shrug.

'And might I remind you of our shared vision,' Stephanos said. 'Of what the Voice of God spoke to us. This world is engulfed in far greater iniquity than that of our world. I believe the baser desires of men are amplified here.'

The rest of the officers nodded.

'There is indeed the issue of the vision,' Alexios said, slowly and contemplatively. 'A woman being set upon by a pack of hounds. What did Lady Eliza call those mercenaries that betrayed them?'

'The Black Dogs,' Robert answered. 'That interpretation seems childishly simple, but it is clear enough.'

'Sometimes, even the most obvious interpretations can ring the truest,' Stephanos said, his fingers tented on the table in thought. 'Look back upon your old lessons, if you will. An obsession with more grandiose interpretations is what led many in Jerusalem and Judea to miss the Incarnation of our Saviour.'

The men nodded amongst themselves in agreement.

'Markos,' Stephanos said, turning to his son. 'You were the one who brought Lady Eliza to camp. According to your assessment of the situation, is there a chance she might be deceiving us?'

'As I said earlier, we rescued her from great peril and took the enemies by surprise,' Markos answered. 'I have seen some proof of the truth of her words myself, father. There very little chance of deception here, if any. I stand by her words.'

'I see,' Stephanos said. 'And I believe staying inactive in camp can make us more vulnerable in the long term. We have been placed in the midst of a war, and in war, he who gains the initiative is victorious. We must follow the leads we have, and for the moment, Lady Eliza's words are our only lead.'

'If your decision is set, I would still advise caution, Sebastos,' Harald said.

Stephanos nodded. 'Indeed,' he said. 'The preservation of our own forces remains paramount in my mind. I will not rush the entire tagma out to this supposed city in a hurried march. I shall leave a token force to guard the camp, and the force we will send will march as an army in hostile territory, with our hippo-toxotai and akritoi scouting ahead of the main force.'

'When shall we be leaving then, Strategos?' Alexios asked.

'I will formally make the announcement of an expedition by midday,' Stephanos answered. 'For now, send messages to our commanders and order them to put their entire force on standby. Order our servants to prepare three days' rations and as much spare weaponry and armour as you estimate are necessary.'

'And the siege train, sir?' Alexios asked. _He __sounds hopeful_, Stephanos thought.

'Bring up three cheiromanganai, three great crossbows, and one helepolis.'

'Of course, sir.'

Stephanos addressed all of the men in the tent.

'I estimate that our force can be fully packed and prepared to move out by this time tomorrow,' he said. 'Our soldiers will have increased portions for dinner, and I will instruct the priesthood to hold the liturgy before the day is ended to prepare our soldiers' spirits for the mission. As for myself, once all my duties are done, I will spend the rest of the day in prayer and meditation to ensure the wisdom of this course of action. I advise you all do the same. For now, you are all dismissed.'

'Yes, Strategos,' the officers replied. They all started filing out of the tent.

'Stratopedarches,' Stephanos called out to Alexios. 'Return here before our midday meal. I will give my orders on which of our forces will remain in camp by then.'

'As you command.'

* * *

The outer districts of Feoh were lost.

The screams of the dying and cries of the defiled joined the triumphant shouts of the Black Dogs and the more savage grunts of demon-kind in the cacophony of war. Black Dogs and demons of all shapes and sizes ran rampant across the wide cobblestone streets, which ran red with the blood of the city's defenders.

The outer districts, which comprised two-thirds of all of Feoh and was home to the vast majority of its common folk, was an image of ruin. The many shrines and churches of the outer district were looted of anything valuable of them and put to the torch, their priests pinned onto their alters and slain. Thick black columns of smoke rose from the burning churches and the pyres lit from sacred relics rose into the blood-red late afternoon sky.

Anyone who was not in league with the demons and their allies were subjected to the most gruesome of torments. Any man who put up any level of resistance was mercilessly cut down. The old and infirm were dragged from their homes and hospices and thrown to the pyres. Those that surrendered were either chained and dragged off for transport to Garan or nailed to wooden boards and used as human shields, whichever caught their captors' fancy. Still, the worst fate of all was reserved for the young women of the city. Some of them were killed by their families out of a twisted sense of duty. Others killed themselves. Worst still, the greater majority of the common women of Feoh were taken alive.

Some resistance remained, however, with around 200 remaining militiamen and 80 knights of the Holy Iris Order arranged in their last shield walls near the two gates of the inner walls, the militiamen holding the south-east and the knights the north-west. Exhausted, terrified, and with many of them wounded, these soldiers fought a desperate battle to keep cover the few civilians still trying to scape to the inner districts before the Iris Knights shut the gates.

The Battle for Feoh had begun that morning. The Black Dogs had led thousands of demons pouring out of the Elven Pass into Seven Shields territory, a force 20,000-strong in all. Feoh's defences were among the greatest of the Seven Shields, boasting stone walls 12 feet thick and 50 feet high, numerous turrets, built-in ballistae and the Goddess's protective wards. However, none of those mattered to the demonic armies, for the outer walls were taken by treachery from within.

As the Black Dogs approached the walls, the Western Gate opened as if via a signal. The Dogs entered not to determined shield walls or arrow fire but to cheers as fully half of the 4,000-strong militia betrayed their city and joined them. The fighting for the outer walls ended in a matter of minutes as the militiamen slew their more loyal counterparts and threw them from the ramparts.

The remaining loyal militiamen and the four Iris Knight companies stationed in the outer districts became embroiled in messy hand-to-hand combat against their traitorous counterparts on the streets of the city when the Black Dogs charged in. The fighting was fierce, house-by-house and street-by-street, but the militia never truly stood a chance. Princess Alicia immediately gave the order for them to retreat and evacuate what civilians they could to the safety of the inner districts.

As morning turned to midday and midday to afternoon, the fighting grew ever closer, and the city, _her city_, became all the more tarnished by the filthy presence of the Black Dogs.

Princess Alicia Arcturus watched the devastation from her perch atop the city's keep, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword so hard her knuckles turned white. Her heart beat like a war drum, her breathing became ragged, and she fought back tears as rage struggled with despair in her heart. She gazed out at one of the columns of smoke rising from the Sacred Grove Church, looked back at the carved scale model of her city and carved representations of the belligerent forces on the table in front of her, and swore for the eighth time that day that she will slay every last one of the Black Dogs if given the chance.

'Your highness,' a voice sounded from behind her right shoulder. Alicia turned to see her second, Knight-Captain Theresa of the Holy Iris Order.

'Report,' Alicia ordered.

'Another enemy advance has been repulsed from the inner gates, but fewer than a hundred militiamen and forty knights remain in the defence,' Theresa said.

'What of the citizens?'

'We have taken in all we could, my lady. Perhaps it is time to close the-'

'No,' Alicia snapped. 'I will not close those gates if that means I cannot save even one citizen who could have still made it. Send in Captain Minerva's company to reinforce the North-West Gate and Captain Amelia's the South-East Gate if we must. We will _not _abandon our people.'

'No one else is coming, my lady. It is pointless to keep waiting. What of the two thousand who did manage to make it inside the Inner City?'

Alicia grit her teeth in frustration. She knew Theresa was right. She exhaled to try and calm herself.

'Fine,' she said. 'Order all forces remaining in the Outer City to retreat. Close the inner gates.'

'Yes, my lady,' Theresa said before marching off to send the signal.

Alicia stared at her subordinate's retreating form for a while before turning her attention back to the map. _Did I do the right thing? _She thought. Her thoughts turned to the roughly 2,000 civilians who made it to the Inner City. Many of the civilians were holed up in the First Fortress, the Cathedral of Feoh or the Grand Priory. The fortress alone has enough provisions to last them up to a month if necessary. They were protected by the last six companies of the Holy Iris Order, about 700 Iris Knights, and the household troops of the kingdom's greatest noble houses. Arrayed against them has a horde of 20,000 demons and the lowest dregs of mankind. _Not nearly enough troops_, she thought.

Alicia's eyes wandered to the green-painted area of the table that represented the southern woods, and her thoughts turned to the squadron she sent to Ur for reinforcements.

_It will take four days for Clara to reach Ur_, the princess thought_, and likely four days at the earliest to return. Eight days. We have to last eight days._

She looked out of her perch once more, this time to gaze at the inner walls. She saw the slightly-opened North-East Gate being shut in accordance Theresa's signalled order. She also saw some of the ballistae starting to loose great bolts to keep the Black Dogs away from the gates.

'At least _those _gates are manned by loyal troops,' the princess hissed under her breath. Her blood again boiled at the thought of half of her militia betraying them to the Black Dogs. For the ninth time that day, she swore to kill all of the Black Dogs, starting with the traitor militia.

_Eight days, _Alicia thought again. _We have to last eight days_.

* * *

**A _cheiromangana _is a traction trebuchet. The _helepolis _mentioned here is not the giant Macedonian siege tower but the counterweight trebuchet, which is a Byzantine invention. I'm also calling the Byzantine devices 'great crossbows' instead of 'ballistae' as a means to try and distinguish the two. There are slight differences between them anyway. **

**And if you're wondering, Father Makarios having been priest at the Church of St Elias is important to him speaking English because that church is one of the churches in Constantinople specifically meant for the Varangian Guard. Many of the Varangian Guard during the Komnenian period were Anglo-Saxons looking for new jobs after William the Conqueror conquered England. Though I think St Elias was for the Rus' Varangians, so I may still have dropped that ball. Oh well.**

**I'm also not too sure about that part where the Varangian commander Harald said the Varangians are not for checking on prisoners since the Varangians also served as prison guards for the Emperor's most feared prison. Maybe it's because Eliza isn't the Emperor's prisoner or something.**

**Carlthompson: The same way the Byzantine Emperor John Komnenos dealt with the Pechenegs at Beroia – throw Varangians at it.**

**Perseus12: That Byzantine camp near that river is practically a small fort, though its defences are packed dirt and palisade instead of stone… for the moment. As for other allies, I'm not sure yet. One rule I have when making cross-overs is to keep them limited to the two main franchises I'm crossing over so I don't clutter the story too much.**

**Edboy4926: Thank you.**

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: That might be the plan, though they have to go on the offensive at this point. **

**Aznereth: That was one of the funnest parts of that chapter to write. I also wanted to put the Byzantine reaction to finding out about native Eostian 'armour' here, but I decided to put the Eostian reaction to practical, real-world armour instead. I looked at some character designs from the first _Kuroinu _game and saw that practically no one wore any substantial armour. Even the men only had what looked like vests and tunics. That said, I wonder how the Black Dogs would react to facing a spear wall of what looks like metal men. Better yet, facing a wedge of metal horsemen on metal horses thundering straight towards them to the tune of 'Legacy of Rome' from the CK2 soundtrack.**

**DefinitelyNotOriginal: We'll get the Byzantine equivalent of that next chapter.**

**And there you have it. Next time, the Battle of Feoh, maybe part 1. And if you also follow my other story, I have some good news: the plot of that one is starting to intrude into my brainstorming for this chapter. **


	5. The March

**I really wanted this chapter to be the battle of Feoh; I really did. But I had to cut ****the battle in half ****because it was getting too long. This is the first ****part ****the battle, and it basically contains all those boring, pre-battle things like the classic **_**Total War **_**pre-battle speech, ****the drama,**** and the marching.**

**A****nd to prevent confusion later, ****take note that an infantry **_**bandon**_** as used in this story is 400 men while a cavalry **_**bandon **_**is 50 men. ****The composition of the Byzantine army here will be clearer later. Or so I say.**

* * *

Chapter IV  
The March

The great forests to the south of Feoh were usually filled with the cacophonous noises of its thousands of birds, the chittering of insect-life, and other disordered sounds of the beasts of the wood. This day, however, the beasts of the wood were silent, for other, their noises were blotted out by more ordered sounds: the music of drums, trumpets, pipes and lyres, all coordinating to produce spirited marching-songs. Alongside the instruments, sounding almost as a means of accompaniment, was the rhythmic stamping of hooves and feet and the more irregular noises of bodies crashing through dense foliage. In the shade of the ancient trees in a distant, alien world, the soldiers of the Roman Empire marched north.

The Romans had spent the previous day preparing for the march. After his meeting the native woman Lady Eliza of Feoh, Stephanos immediately ordered the tagma to stand by, possibly in preparation for an advance. Instead of their usual training regimens, all of the soldiers of the tagma were ordered to prepare themselves for a review of the troops while the camp's servants were in a frenzy, loading up the mules with supplies necessary for the expedition.

The review ended without incident, and Stephanos saw with his own eyes that his troops were ready and eager, no doubt thanks to their renewed sense of purpose and the circumstances they found themselves in. He inquired of the wounded the previous day and learned that they were all fighting fit, but his wonder was renewed when he saw them – men who were previously missing limbs, were bleeding with gaping wounds, or were disfigured in other ways by the blades of the Turk – standing proudly with their brothers-in-arms to present themselves before him.

After the review, Stephanos ordered a heartier midday meal served for the men and met with Alexios to discuss which of the units to bring along with them and which ones to keep and guard the camp. And with their meals done, the soldiers were ordered to spend their day in rest and prayer, and all who were willing to do so could meet with one of the tagma's accompanying priests for Confession. Stephanos himself was the first to confess, and his officers followed him soon after.

As his troops rested and unburdened themselves of sin before the battle, Stephanos called Alexios back to the tent to discuss the state of the army. Alongside the Master of Camp were all of the highest commanders of the tagma: the three heads of the infantry taxiarchia, the five leaders of the cavalry allagia, Primikerios Harald Olafsson of the Varangian contingent, Count Robert de Brienne of the Latinikon, and Komes Philippos Argyros of the troops of the Emperor's household. The Lady Eliza was also called on to provide her native knowledge, but due to Father Makarios busy tending to the healthy of the soldiers' souls, Harald consented to bringing the Varangian Athelstan as translator.

Their first point of discussion was the size of the army Stephanos would bring with him. Eliza had claimed that the enemies numbered in the tens of thousands, a source of concern for the Romans. The presence of a thousand knights, roughly four thousand militiamen, and about another thousand and a half retainers of the noble houses in the besieged city brought little comfort, especially since the knight admitted that the militiamen were of dubious quality. Eliza then explained the nature of the foe, the so-called Black Dogs and their demon allies. Stephanos understood from that morning that she had no detailed intelligence, so he instead quizzed her on what she did know: the reputation of the Black Dogs, how her people fought, the extent to which they studied war, what weapons they fought with, and how a native army is commanded. Her explanations on the most common forms of demons also ensured that the Romans would not be totally blind in the coming fight.

After much deliberation, Stephanos decided to bring roughly 4,200 soldiers, much of his army, with him. They would leave behind most of the camp's servants and drill sergeants, along with those men whose units have been combined into new ones due to losses from Caesarea. Those units consisted of a bandon of infantry and two cavalry banda – roughly 500 men in all. The servants would begin working on expanding the camp into something more permanent.

Stephanos and his commanders also discussed another critical issue: the existence of other sapient races besides man. In this, the Romans found themselves divided. Stephanos himself was open to dealing with these non-humans, though he wanted to know more about them first. Other commanders, namely Demetrios and Robert, proposed allying with them outright for the sake of security. Others, such as Alexios, Harald and Argyros, advised caution, noting that their fighting capabilities and general usefulness to the cause are still unknown. All they could agree upon was a single point: the dark elves were not to be trusted. In other matters, they also agreed that moving to rescue that city would be the best course of action, especially since they only had a few days of food left. In the end, Stephanos decided that they knew too little of these other races and would deal with the issue upon gathering more intelligence.

As the soldiers rested, prayed and made their weapons and armour ready, their servants went on a frantic spree of activity. Food carefully measured to be enough for three days was loaded onto the pack mules alongside the bandages, bedrolls, medicine, water, arrows, spare javelins, liquid fire, spare spears, spare swords, spare armour, and all the other necessities of a Roman army on the march. Their supply situation was not the best due to them originally returning home after a campaign, so the Master of Camp had to be exacting in his measurements, almost down to the last grain and arrowhead. Alexios also took especial notice of the disassembly of a portion of the siege train – his pride and joy – for transport. The great counterweight-operated helepolis, one of the two the tagma had, was the only device too large to have its component parts carried by pack mules and had to be transported by wagon. He knew it would slow the march down significantly.

The soldiers had been allowed a heartier dinner, though many of them refrained from eating meat or drinking wine in emulation of Stephanos's vow. They were also given an earlier time to retire to their tents with orders to sleep in their kavadia and keep the rest of their panoply close by, a sure sign – if any still needed it at this point – of impending action.

* * *

The Romans awoke well before dawn, spoke their customary prayers, and broke their fast with heartier-than-usual fare. As the sky turned from pre-dawn black to a slight blue, the camp's trumpets sounded, and the soldiers assembled according to their taxiarchia and allagia, and their officers led them to the open ground north of the camp.

There, they found the tagma's priests gathered alongside the formed-up katapraktoi and Varangian Guard. In front of the kataphraktoi, dressed in full panoply and clutching his helm, was Stephanos. He stood on a raised wooden platform and looked down on his soldiers for a few moments before speaking.

'Today is a day of fate,' the Strategos said. 'A day that God has ordained for all of us even before the creation of the world. Today, we march north in the first step in the liberation of this land!'

The Romans raised gave a loud cheer, raising their swords and spears to the sky. Stephanos raised a hand to silence them after a few moments, and he turned and pointed behind him before turning back to his men.

'To the north, a few miles from here, lies a walled city of men,' he said. 'It is a city under siege. The darkness that so plagues this world now threatens to engulf it, and this darkness has a name all too familiar to all of you: the demon.'

A hushed murmur emanated from the assembled Romans. Many of the soldiers made the Sign of the Cross.

'Yet these are not the demons of our experience, those disembodied spirits that subvert our thoughts and tempt us to acts of evil. The enemy we are about to face are demons in the flesh, abominations all, who would seek to corrupt both flesh and spirit!'

For a moment, there was silence among the Roman ranks. Stephanos stepped off his platform and approached one soldier. The soldier regarded him with full attention, and he nodded as a sign of respect before walking past the front rank of the tagma as if in review, looking each man in the eye as he passed.

'I have fought alongside you, my friends, across numerous battlefields,' Stephanos continued as he walked. 'Together, we have braved the lances of the Magyar, the arrows of the Cuman, the swords of the Syrian and the spears of the Turk.' He stopped before the last soldier in the rank. 'Together, we have emerged victorious,' he said, tapping the soldier's shoulder. He then walked back to the platform and regarded all of his soldiers.

'Yet those foes pale in comparison to these we face today,' he said, his voice clear yet grave. 'For the Magyar, the Cuman, the Syrian and the Turk are all men, as capable as any of valour and honour, of dignity and faith. These demons we face and those men that willingly consort with them – if they are even truly men – are the creatures of vilest evil!'

Roars of excoriation arose from all of the Romans, and the Strategos once again raised his hand to bring his soldiers to order.

'Such is the nature of the foe we face!' He declared. 'But fear not, my friends, and find courage in your faith! Remember that these creatures have no hold upon us, we who are servants of God! Know that the victory of Christ has already left these spawn of Satan broken! Such is our mission in this world: to proclaim the victory of the Cross to both the demons and the natives, who know not of God. Thus we proclaim: _O Sta__v__ros __n__ika_!'

And so was that antique and famous Roman battle-cry, the victory cry of the Cross, heard for the first time in the alien world.

'_O Stavros nika_!'

When the soldiers fell silent, Father Makarios walked up beside Stephanos and led the soldiers in their morning prayers and the customary taking of Holy Communion before battle, aided by Father Manuel and Father Christodoulos.

* * *

The sun rose bright and early on the second day of the siege of Feoh, revealing the thick pillars of smoke that still rose from the outer districts of the doomed city.

To Alicia, who was looking east to watch it rise from her perch in the First Fortress, the sun seemed to be mocking her.

The Princess of Feoh did not sleep much last night. The Black Dogs had launched a night attack on the Inner Wall. A group of ogres again carried a gigantic log to ram the gates while the Black Dogs carried ladders on both sides of the gatehouse. The Iris Knights' ballistae and archers reaped a terrible harvest of demon and mercenary flesh in the dark of night. The ogres carrying their crude battering ram fell one by one, the last one speared by a ballista bolt right between the eyes more than two hundred paces from the gate. However, one ladder did manage to embed itself upon the wall.

Hundreds of goblins and Black Dogs rushed up the ladder, only to be met by the blades and arrows of the Iris Knights. Alicia had to reinforce that part of the wall with 50 knights from her own First Company led by Theresa herself. The enemies were only dislodged from the wall after hours of fighting and 34 Iris Knights killed. Alicia knew all of their names.

_We grow more exhausted_ _as the siege goes on_, Alicia thought, _while the Black Dogs can attack us at their leisure. When we kill some of their creatures, they just send more. This state of affairs cannot…_

The princess's head nodded, her body relaxed in her chair, and her mind drifted off to sleep.

And then the screams began.

Alicia's eyes shot open once more, her mind shaken awake by the screams of the citizens of Feoh. The screams would echo across her mind whenever she started nodding off, and the fog of sleep would be cleared from her mind. She briefly grimaced as she felt the persistent headache she had due to lack of sleep assail her anew, but she used all of her willpower to fight it off. She balled her left hand into a fist, only to feel that she was holding something.

It was a parchment.

Alicia glared at the object and slammed it at the table, stabbing it with her dagger for the third time since last night. She knew exactly what it said.

The parchment was delivered to her late in the previous afternoon, almost immediately before the Black Dogs' half-hearted night raid. A human runner came from the Black Dogs carrying a white banner of truce during a lull in the fighting. He shot a blunted arrow bearing the offending parchment towards the wall, and a messenger promptly delivered it to the First Fortress.

Alicia considered the contents of the message the second vilest and most infuriating drivel she read, right after the Black Dogs' declaration of war.

_Her Highness, Princess Alicia of Feoh_,

_The Black Dogs of the Sex Empire have your fair city by the throat. Our glorious forces are outside your walls. We are on your walls. We are within your walls. We are in every nook and cranny of your precious Alliance, for the spirit of the Black Dog lies in the heart of every man in Eostia. Even now, we can crush you at our leisure, but we are only held back by our great compassion for your people._

_Know that like you, we seek and end to war. But unlike you, we seek an end to all wars. While your Bitch-Goddess and the Bitch-Queen of Garan sought to destroy each other using demons and men as their puppets, we have achieved a brotherhood with the demons far greater than you can ever imagine. Contrast the iron-wrought loyalty of our men with each other to the betrayal of yours in the battle for the Outer Walls, and see the truth of my words._

_As fellow lovers of peace, I am certain that we can come up with a compromise that can save your city and your people from being sacrificed upon the altar of peace. For in truth, peace requires only one sacrifice. You are the loveliest of your order, the most radiant flower upon the Knights of Iris. You are in the dreams of all our soldiers, man or demon, and you are the greatest object of their desire. With you in their loving embrace, they will not seek another woman beside them. _

_Surrender yourself to us, and we will ensure the safety of those among your people who do not resist us. Continue to resist, and your city will fall, your men will be our labourers, your women will be our slaves, and your children will grow up in our service. In fact, if we take the First Fortress from you by violence, I will personally drag you from the rubble, have you stripped and bound to by wall, and force you to watch as your precious sister, that pink bitch, eats my cock while pleasuring two swine-men at the same time. She will love every minute of it, I assure you._

_With the utmost respect,_

_His Grace Otho, General of the Black Dogs, Commander of the Infantry, Loyal Servant of King Vault of the Sex Empire_

Alicia exhaled to still her breath before slamming the parchment to the table, her face contorted in a snarl. She took out her dagger and stabbed it, the third time she did so since receiving it, and left it pinned on the table for a while. She stared at it silently, tears of rage forming in her eyes, before stabbing it several more times, each stab sinking the dagger deeper into the ironwood table. At the last, she picking up the parchment and threw it on the stone floor.

Panting with pent-up anger, the Princess of Feoh again looked upon the model of the city on the table and considered the larger situation. The Inner City held for the moment, but she had less than 700 Iris Knights and 1,200 household troops of the great houses arrayed against a horde of Black Dogs and demons that both overwhelmingly outnumbered them and can reinforce themselves as they pleased. The only advantage the knights and household troops had lay in their plentiful supplies as well as their superior discipline, skill with the blade, but she knew those two can only keep them fighting for so long. Feoh needed reinforcements, and it needed them direly.

_Seven more days_, Alicia thought. _We must last for seven more days until reinforcements reach us_.

Alicia's tired gaze then turned back to the floor, to the parchment she threw there.

_That cur threatened Prim_, she thought. And then her eyes widened, and she stood up. _Have the Black Dogs reached Ur as well? Is Prim alright? We have to break out; we have to-_

The sound of armoured feet climbing up the winding staircase to her command post broke her from her increasingly desperate thoughts. Her hand instinctively went for her sword, and she tightened her grip on its hilt due to tension. It took a moment for her weary mind to understand that those footsteps belonged to allies.

Theresa burst into the room, panting in exhaustion. She was flanked by two men-at-arms whose leather armour bore the sigil of the noble house of Prime Minister Beasley. She noted the two seemed less exhausted, possibly because they were only from downstairs while Theresa was from the Inner Wall. Alicia offered the knight water. She accepted and walked up to the table, the two men-at-arms following three feet behind her.

'Dire news, your highness,' Theresa said after the first gulp. 'The Black Dogs have finally rammed the East Gate Open. Our knights are abandoning the walls and are in full retreat. We must-'

Alicia's eyes widened and her mouth gaped open as a sword sprouted from Theresa's throat. The knight looked down in shock before spewing blood all over the carved figures of the city on the table. The princess turned to the other one of Beasley's soldiers, whose sword was already drawn and who was already running towards her.

The man-at-arms' sword was met with Alicia's own as she managed to parry at the last moment. The man then fell back and raised his shield in the middle guard as the other man withdrew his sword from Theresa's throat and pushed her dying form to one side. The second man lunged at Alicia, sword aimed at her right side, but she side-stepped to the left and lashed out with a horizontal slice aimed at his head. The man deflected the blow with his shield and struck again, this time using his sword's pommel, but Alicia dodged with a backward step. The first man attacked by trying to bash Alicia with his shield, strangely enough, and the princess took another step back.

The princess and the two men-at-arms stared at each other, each considering their options. Alicia silently cursed the fact that she left her shield propped up against her chair as she glared at the two traitorous men-at-arms. _Beasley will hear of this if we both get out of this alive_, she thought.

The two men charged side-by-side, the first one striking with his pommel from the left and the other with a shield bash from the right. Alicia reacted quickly, dodging back and left to avoid the shield and striking at the first man's arm with her dagger. The first man screamed as the short blade pierced his forearm, and he withdrew the bleeding limb, dagger still biting deep. In a fluid motion, Alicia then leapt right, right at the open spot created by the second man when he tried to bash her with his shield, and stabbed at the man's side between the ribs. The man-at-arms twisted his body and tried for a wild stab even as he cried out in pain, but Alicia managed to dodge. She punched the man with her left fist, causing him to stagger backward, and split his head open with her sword and kicked him down, staining the stone floor with blood and brain matter. Coincidentally, the parchment she threw on the ground became stained with blood.

The first man, dagger still in his right arm, tried to fall back as his grip on his sword slackened. He took several cautious steps backward, keeping his shield up. Alicia, emboldened by the death of the second man, lunged at him with a stab for the face with a wordless cry of rage. The man raised his shield to deflect the princess's sword, but she stopped her lunge, shifted mid-strike, and swung her sword horizontally, cutting a deep gash in the man's midsection. The man's eyes widened in shock and terror, and Alicia stabbed him at the throat, in the same spot his sword emerged from Theresa.

As she drew her bloody blade from the man-at-arms, Alicia heard the shouts of men and women and the clash of steel on steel. She thought that the battles may have been going on for a while without her knowledge. She gave another sharp exhalation of breath and clenched her jaw tightly as the grim realisation dawned on her.

They had been betrayed a second time.

* * *

'More daylight is starting to stream in,' Markos said. 'I think we're through the worst of it.'

'Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for them,' Andrej replied, the koursor to Markos's left, replied, pointing a thumb to the marching column behind him. Markos noted that the rhythmic marching sound seemed to have halted. Even the musicians stopped playing.

Markos and seven of his men were at the front of the Roman tagma, tasked with accompanying Lady Eliza and her English Varangian bodyguard Athelstan, both riding their own horses, as they plotted a course through the dark forest to the native city. Feoh, he remembered it was called. The rest of his bandon was under Gavrilo's temporary command, placed in formation in the left wing of the infantry column alongside the rest of the allagion to guard it against possible enemy attack. As the officer who rescued Eliza in the first place and the commander of the bandon who had scouted the location earlier, Markos and a few men were detached from the bandon and placed alongside the hippo-toxotai screening the tagma's march.

'I heard the baggage train got bogged down again,' Andrej continued, looking at his commander. 'Your uncle's toys seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere.'

Markos nodded, fully aware of what Andrej meant. 'That much is to be expected,' he said. 'The animal trails we followed yesterday were narrow enough already. There's no way we can get a siege train, even a reduced one, through the forest without incident.'

'Still,' Andrej mused, shifting his eyes back forward. 'I think it's better if we do have siege engines behind us. We're already outnumbered as we are, and we do not know the condition we would find the city in when we reach it.'

Markos turned to his right and looked at the native knight. Lady Eliza was given the armour of a hippo-toxotes to wear, a dark green kavadion and leggings with the outer sleeves pinned at the shoulders, as well as her metal arm-guards, gloves and boots. She was armed with her sword and dagger, and she was given a spare shield with markings that denoted Markos's bandon. Her hair was mostly covered by a thick felt cap and a turban, revealing a pair of dainty, well-shaped ears. Markos thought hiding her exotic wine-red hair detracted a little from her beauty, but he understood that the needs of protection superseded aesthetic concerns.

'Lady Eliza,' he called out. The lady turned to her with a quizzical expression. 'If you do not mind my asking, how well can your knights fight?' Athelstan immediately translated the question, apparently also interested in knowing.

Eliza briefly smiled and gave an explanation in her own language. _She __sounds proud enough, _Markos thought. _I hope I did not offend._

'Lady Eliza says the sisterhood that is the Holy Order of the Knights of Iris are among the greatest swordsmen in Eostia,' Athelstan translated. 'Apparently, they are second only in fame and skill to the legendary Dawn Templars themselves.'

_Templar__s_? Markos thought. He turned to Andrej and saw that he too had the same questioning expression. He chose to file away the question for later. 'And what of the Black Dogs?' he instead asked.

Eliza again gave an explanation but paused mid-way.

'She says the Black Dogs were once known as the greatest mercenary army in Eostia,' Athelstan pointed out. 'Though that is mostly due to their numbers. However, their leader is said to be a formidable warrior only matched by someone named Lady Claudia or the Grave of Levantine.'

Markos nodded. Eliza continued explaining, though judging from her tone, Markos thought that she seemed uncertain of her words.

'And to answer your true question, my lord,' Athelstan continued, 'Lady Eliza says she is unsure as to whether the thousand-strong Iris Knights can hold the city against the Black Dogs and their demons for long. While the knights themselves are skilled and well-led by their princess and the nobles' household troops are of passable competence, the militia that form the bulk of their forces are hurriedly trained. The Black Dogs too have demons on their side, and they are not to be underestimated.'

'I see,' Markos said with another nod. 'Thank you, Varangian. And relate my apologies to the knight for me if my question offended.'

Athelstan told Eliza so. 'She finds nothing to be offended about in your questions, sir,' he told Markos.

'Something still bothers me about this situation,' Andrej told Markos, his voice only a bit louder than a whisper. 'A sisterhood of female knights, apparently led by a princess. I'm wondering: What are the native menfolk doing? How badly did they fail so that women are forced to fight and die on the front lines?'

Markos shrugged. 'Perhaps their customs dictate that women should fight as warriors,' he said. 'Like the Scythians of old. Or perhaps the Amazons of Hellene myth.'

'Perhaps,' Andrej mused. 'Perhaps.' He then looked at Eliza's direction. Markos glanced at him and saw that the koursor's eyes briefly rested on the lady's chest before looking forward again. 'I'd disagree with your comparison between them and the Amazons, though,' Andrej said. 'The lady is not mutilated enough to be an Amazon.'

'As your commander and brother in the faith, I must advise against letting your eyes lead you to sin, Brother Andrej,' Markos said, his tone light-hearted enough to let the other understand he was not entirely serious.

'My intentions were completely wholesome, my commander,' Andrej replied with a small grin. 'And the wonders of the thick Roman kavadion have spared my eyes of a sight most sinful.'

Markos only snorted out a short laugh in response.

The march continued for a while, with the thick forest slowly becoming more accommodating to the koursores. Upon seeing the silhouette of four horse-riders approaching them, Markos held out a hand to halt his group and couched his lance. The other members of the squadron similarly readied their weapons, and Athelstan and Eliza also drew their swords.

'_Basileus_,' he called out as a challenge to the approaching horsemen.

'_Ioannes_,' a familiar voice answered. That was the correct reply, and Markos and the rest of the squadron put their weapons down. Eliza looked at her compatriots, her brow furrowed in uncertainty, before also slowly sheathing her sword.

'Komes Kalomeros,' Thomas Aprenos, the komes of the hippo-toxotai that accompanied Markos in their scouting mission, said as he emerged from the trees. 'We are about one bowshot away from the clearing where we fought those brigands. My men tell me the forest beyond that seems more manageable than this one.'

Markos nodded and turned to Eliza. 'Lady Eliza, we are approaching the clearing where we first saw you. What is the terrain beyond it like?' he asked. The knight made her reply as soon as Athelstan finished his translation.

'She confirms the scouts' report that the forest beyond the clearing is more manageable,' the Varangian explained. 'She also says there is a man-made trail leading from Feoh about a mile into that forest.'

'How long between that trail and the city?' Markos asked as a follow-up.

'A few miles,' Athelstan replied. 'She says it is designed as a secret path between Feoh and its sister-city to the east. The trail is apparently still narrow, but it should serve our purposes well.'

Markos then turned to Andrej. 'Report this to the Strategos,' he ordered. 'Tell him we are approaching a proper trail that leads directly to Feoh.' He then turned back to Thomas.

'By the way, did you see what time it is?' he asked.

'About an hour after midday,' Thomas answered. 'Plenty of time before sunset, I believe.'

Markos regarded Andrej again. 'Tell the Strategos that too,' he said. The koursor nodded and turned his horse around, ordering it to a careful canter to the vanguard of the marching column.

'Don't worry, Lady Eliza,' Markos said, turning to the knight again. 'I believe my father is as eager as any of us to reach your city as soon as possible. With your trail leading straight to it, let's see if we can get there as soon as the day's end.'

* * *

The horrid day of betrayal finally ended. It was the longest day of Alicia's life.

The Inner City had fallen. This time, even the household troops of Feoh's great houses turned against their oaths to the Goddess and their rightful masters and sided with the Black Dogs. The curs assaulted the Iris Knights as they fell back from the walls, and many were cut down as they tried to regroup in the First Fortress. More men and women, peasant and noble alike, rushed the gates of the Fortress, which was only closed just before the first demons could get to them. A hundred Iris Knights were left cut off to buy the citizens time to escape.

Alicia could only hope that they were not taken alive.

The Black Dogs assaulted the First Fortress all day, and its outer defences fell after heavy fighting. Alicia threw herself right in the thick of combat, releasing all the pent-up hatred she had for the Dogs with every slash, cut and stab. The Iris Knights rallied around her and were driven to new heights of heroism, and in any other day, the princess could have declared the battle their finest hour yet. They retreated to the innermost walls of the Fortress, beyond its courtyard, ready to defend the keep and the people that lay within to the last.

The battle petered out once more when evening fell. The 300 remaining Iris Knights kept watch, mindful of night attacks, but none ever came. However, what assailed them was arguably more horrible than a major night attack. Throughout the night, they heard all-too-familiar screams and, those of women being raped repeatedly and not let go until they lay broken both in mind and body. They heard many begging for mercy, but their cries all fell on deaf ears. There was no sleep for the Iris Knights that night.

And so, the sun rose to the day of Feoh's destruction.

'Enemies approaching from the right!' an Iris Knight warned.

'Fourth Company, divert reinforcements to the right! We'll hold this section!' Alicia ordered.

Her knights promptly obeyed, running off to meet the new foe.

Alicia stood at the very centre of the innermost fortifications, at the wall facing the First Fortress's courtyard. From her commanding view of the battle, she saw yet another enemy horde approach, thousands-strong, led by a band of orcs carrying a battering ram to put to the gate. She took a bow, nocked an arrow, aimed and loosed, hitting an orc in the point below the left shoulder blade. The brute simply broke the arrow and kept moving as if nothing happened. Alicia shot it again and yet again, but it only fell once a bolt from one of the Fortress's last four ballistae impaled it in the gut.

More arrows and bolts flew from the walls, to be answered in kind by goblin and Black Dog archers on the ground. The goblins' shortbows and the Black Dogs' hunting bows lacked the power of the knights' military-style bows, but they made up for the discrepancy in numbers. The knights were forced to take cover and keep their heads down as the orcs reached the keep's gate.

Those orcs that did not die began to ram the gate. They were only stopped when quicklime poured forth from the machicolations above the gate, burning up the brutes' exposed flesh. The orcs died screaming and in agone. Some of the Iris Knights also hurled stones from the keep's roof, injuring many orcs and killing a few. The last orc was killed when a millstone cracked its skull. The ramming attack failed.

However, more enemies were on the way.

Black Dogs assailed the walls with four siege ladders, their advance again covered by arrow fire. Some opportunistic arrows and bolts issued forth from the walls, but they were few and far between. The Dogs placed one such ladder near the place where Alicia was standing. Its hooks were lowered as it hit the wall, securing it in place. There was a great cheer from below, and the Black Dogs began to climb with screams of adulation. Alicia drew her sword and prepared for the melee while the knights around her shot their bows downward or threw stones to stop the Black Dogs.

Alicia greeted first Black Dog to reach the top of the ladder with a stab to the face and a kick. He died screaming.

Even more of the Dogs clambered up, and Alicia killed them one by one. She eventually had to step back when the Black Dogs went jabbed extremely long pikes towards the wall. Three of the Dogs approached her, slowly and with lascivious smiles, and attempted to bash her with their pommels. Alicia step back again, stabbing the first one in the chest and blocking the second one's strike as she withdrew her blade. _There's at least one thing I can be thankful for_, she thought as the third Dog seemed to wait for reinforcements. _They are hampered by the fact that they want us alive._ Two more Black Dogs emerged from the ladder and charged at the princess, and she killed them all with quick strikes. Two more Iris Knights, Cassandra and Ophelia, went to Alicia's side after running out of projectiles to throw. Together, the three knights advanced to push back the Black Dogs.

The Dogs were thrown from the walls after a few minutes of hard fighting. Twenty-two of the Iris Knights were left wounded in exchange for a hundred dead Black Dogs. Alicia and the surviving knights hacked the top portions of the ladders, the portions that contained the metal hooks and strings attached to iron nails the enemies drove to the wall, and pushed them down, killing even more.

The attack suddenly petered out. The Iris Knights went for cover, but even the arrows from below that usually accompanied such lulls in the assault did not materialise. A few of them – those who still had arrows – took some opportunistic shots, and the ballistae came to life once more. However, the enemies did not retaliate. Instead, they simply stood there, shouting, taunting the Iris Knights, and laughing at their predicament. Alicia looked further and saw some activity in the enemies' rear lines.

The Princess's heart sank as she saw what the enemies' next plan was.

A band of ogres emerged from the gates, dragging large, thick wooden planks. Tied to those planks were dozens of nuns of the Grand Priory. Many of them were friends of Alicia and Prim, some from childhood. All of them were in some state of undress or another, and the Black Dogs and demons jeered at them as they passed. The ogres stopped right before the keep, well within arrow range, and braced the planks against wooden stands to display the nuns. They were still alive. Alicia saw that many of them were weeping.

'Bastards,' Cassandra said, teeth clenched and mouth in a snarl.

A bald man with a thick beard, black leather armour, and a self-important look in his face stepped up beside the planks. Alicia thought he must be the commander of this army, the 'Otho' that sent that vulgar offer of surrender.

'Princess Alicia!' the Black Dog shouted, pointing at the bound nuns. Alicia thought that even his voice sounded self-important. 'Look at these holy maidens, who pledged their chastity to the Goddess!' He turned to the enemy army and gestured, calling some of them forward. A group of goblins with wide grins in their faces answered. Many were outright laughing. Some were licking their lips.

'This is the consequence of your stubbornness!' the Black Dog declared.

'They wouldn't,' Ophelia said, eyes wide. Cassandra simply shook her head and looked away.

The goblins set upon the nuns with gusto, touching, licking, groping. The nuns wept and cried out to the Goddess or to the knights for help. Soon, their cries turned to moans, their bodies betraying them to lust.

'Your worthless defiance will lead your nuns to break their vows!' the Black Dog continued. 'Keep resisting, and they will become our whores!'

A cheer arose from the assembled Black Dog armies.

'But there is a way you can stop this!' the Black Dog said. 'Surrender! Surrender your city to us, we will spare your people!'

'Nev-' Alicia began, before she heard the nuns. Many of them were beseeching the Goddess for forgiveness. The princess lowered her sword, and her expression darkened as she lowered her head.

A thousand thoughts raced across Alicia's mind. She thought on the dead. _Surely it will __insult their memory to surrender now_. She thought on the living. _But __I still have people to serve_. She thought on the Black Dogs. _Traitors and scoundrels. _She thought on her duty. _I am these people's princess. I am their __Shield__. _She thought on Prim. _Do they truly have her…_?

Her father's last words to her before he went off to die in battle then echoed in her mind.

_Remember, a ruler's truest and greatest duty is to sacrifice herself for her people._

'What do you say, _Princess Alicia_?' the Black Dog shouted. To Alicia, the emphasis on her name sounded like an accusation.

'No, your highness!' Cassandra said from beside her. 'This is a trick! The Black Dogs will never spare our people!'

'She's right!' Ophelia said.

'Please!' a nun shouted from below. Alicia recognised the voice: Flora, a friend of hers and Prim's. 'Your highness! Please keep fighting! Leave us!'

Alicia looked out to where Flora was and saw that the nuns were being surrounded by orcs and men. Some of the men were in the process of undoing their trousers' bindings.

Alicia grit her teeth in frustration.

'Enough!' she called out. 'We…' she lowered her voice a bit, both in hesitation and in shame. 'We surrender.'

'Princess, no!' Cassandra exclaimed.

'What was that?' the Black Dog called out. 'Repeat what you said, please! My men didn't hear you!'

A peal of laughter from the ranks of the Black Dogs demonstrated that he was lying.

Alicia took a deep breath.

'I said-'

Her next words were completely drowned out by new, foreign voices. The voices were still a ways off, but due to some supernatural trick of sound, everyone in the keep heard the call loud and clear.

'_O Stavros nika!_'

* * *

**Hey look, a cliffhanger. I hope I can finish the next chapter earlier, especially since it's already about half-done.**

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: That's the plan eventually, but will the Seven Shields willingly side with a foreign army bringing a foreign religion with them? How will the Byzantines react to some elf claiming to be a goddess incarnate? That remains to be seen.**

**Carlthompson: They did, actually. A lot. A good rule of thumb in Byzantine history is that bad emperors generally cut the army's budget and hire mercenaries while good emperors try to get rid of mercenaries and raise their own soldiers. A few exceptions like Alexios I Komnenos exist, of course, in Alexios's case, that's because he had no choice after the Battle of Manzikert. The Varangian Guard, the emperor's elite bodyguard unit/police force/prison guards/professional drunkards/shock troops, were also mercenaries, but they were different in that they were largely fanatically loyal.**

**Perseus12: Well, there they are now. I could have teleported them onto Feoh after the previous chapter so they can rescue Alicia immediately, but I'm not the writers of a famous TV series based on a series of unfinished books, so the Byzantines had to get their two-day march.**

**Ylnadiir: That discussion on other races and pagan worship was originally there, but I cut it and put a condensed version here because it made the chapter too long and didn't actually have a conclusion anyway. All they really concluded was that they needed more information. I can only hope that didn't detract much from the story. I'd also think they would be willing to at ally themselves with pagans out of convenience due to the greater threat since allying with their enemy's enemy and trying to have them both kill each other has been Byzantine foreign policy since at least the 6****00s AD, maybe earlier.**

**Acerze: Thank you. I try to make my stories seem as well thought-out as possible. Most of t****he time, though, my writing process involves writing something I thought was cool and then scrambling to ensure that cool thing is consistent with what I wrote. More actual Eastern Roman kickassery to follow. Don't quote me on this, but I heard it will involve fire magic.**

**Edboy4926: Thanks again.**

**VGBlackwing: I agree with the Eostian leadership being a joke. And the Byzantines will, of course, try to get things done their usual byzantine way. There might be politicking, if I'm capable of writing that in a subtle manner.**

**Aznereth: The Byzantines can have an idea that wonderful, yes, if they actually knew where the Black Fortress was. Their response to it probably involves rampant pyromania. As for the Black Dogs in _Of Dogs and Kings_, they're a big organisation there (as they are here), so there are bound to be all sorts of people there, from genuine heroes dedicated to defending Eostia (like our late and lamented Captain Julius) to others. Vault back there had been fighting what seemed like a pointless war for most of his adult life (he was only member of the council for ten years), so of course he'd have ideas. The Dogs in that story are a more villainous version of another dog-based mercenary outfit based in a reclaimed oil rig, but that's only as a start. This story is truer to the original, though, so they're a lot simpler.**

**See you next time. Up next: the actual battle.**


	6. Blood Upon the Walls

**Finally, the battle. This chapter contains lots of guesswork on how people fought using two-handed axes, ****Byzantine weapons you may not ****have known were used in real life, the unofficial Byzantine national anthem, and other things. I hope you enjoy. **

**For more enjoyment, ****I should inform you that I wrote ****the Byzantine parts of this chapter to the tune of '****Sons of Constantinople' by the YouTube channel Tyler ****Cunningham Music, which very much deserves more attention, ****and 'Legacy of Rome' from the **_**Crusader Kings II **_**soundtrack. ****And ****weirdly enough****, the theme music of The Horatio ****faction**** from **_**Endless Space 2**_**. ****I own none of those as well, by the way.**

* * *

Chapter V  
Blood Upon the Walls

Gart was a Black Dog, a true man among men. More to the point, he was a Black Dog _captain_. He was the leader of a company almost 200 men strong, exceeding them all in strength, charisma, intelligence, and most importantly, _stamina_.

As all of a dozen bitches found out the night before.

Gart gave out a big yawn while stretching his hands upward as he walked out the door of the large building he and his men have been doing his 'duties' in all night. He brought his hands back down again after he stepped out the doorway and took in a deep breath. The cool morning air outside smelled of smoke, decay, and all sorts of burnt-out things; the fuggy air inside smelled of last night's many discharges, both of his still-sleeping men and the bitches they chained to the walls.

He looked behind to see the facade of that building he was from. He honestly could not tell what the building used to be, not after the Black Dogs took it from the militia using it as a makeshift fort. An inn? A pub? Some rich man's house? He didn't care; all that mattered was that it made a passable whorehouse. He felt his bare feet touch the cold ground of the building's outer court. He was only clad in his black leather tunic, but he didn't care. All he thought of was that of all the jobs he could be assigned to in this army, this was the best.

His company was present in the thickest fighting since the beginning of the battle for Feoh the day before. Not that it was much of a battle. The princess-bitch Alicia's first minister, Bardsley or whatever, made sure of that. Still, what loyal militiamen remained proved too stubborn for their own sakes, and some skirmishes turned very intense, if still one-sided. And those Iris Knights still managed to put up a decent fight.

As a reward for being the first company to climb the Inner Wall and capture the gatehouse, General Otho pulled Gart and his men out of the front lines and gave them a new duty: to break in the new acquisitions. He was pretty good at it. He seemed a bit _too _good, in fact. He knew no man, no matter how virile, would be able to take a dozen women in one night. He shook his head, dismissing the thought as irrelevant.

Gart laughed at his thoughts again as he left the boundary of the property where his building one stood, demarcated by what remained of a fence. He looked around to examine his surroundings. He took in the view of the wide square that lay beyond the cobblestone street him, the largest in Feoh's Outer City, which had come to view after many of the trees that fenced it off from the street had fallen.

The square was an image of ruin. Many of the trees that originally lined separated the square from the streets that surrounded it lay fallen on the ground or were taken away for use as battering rams for the gates. The large round marble fountain in the middle of the square was also ruined, the now-stagnant water in its basin muddied with blood after the corpses of its defenders were thrown to it. Some smart guy – Gart knew which one – decapitated the statue of the Goddess that served as the apex of the monument that topped the fountain, and demons threw blood and less appealing matter onto it out of spite. The manors and great shops on the street that lined the square were similarly ruined, some of them reduced to smoking rubble. The largest building facing the square, the Church of the Sacred something-or-other, was little more than a gutted, burnt-out mess, used as yet another whorehouse by the demons that took residence there. Mangled bodies – mostly of militiamen, but occasionally of Black Dogs and demons – littered the square, lying in pools of their own drying blood and contributing to the charnel house stench of the entire place with their decay. Gart knew these sights and scents ought to be repulsive for him, but he couldn't help but feel a warm sense of satisfaction when looking at it.

Other Black Dogs – both men and demons – were emerging from the buildings they spend the night in. All of them had that same satisfied look he had, a look that showed that life is simply perfect. One of them – Sergeant Karl from Gart's company – drunkenly ambled out of a nearby house, also naked as the day he was born and clearly exhausted, his fist raised in triumph. He nodded in acknowledgement to his captain for a while before collapsing against a doorpost and sliding down the floor, fast asleep. Gart laughed.

_A city to our name, fighting for a cause we want, and all the bitches we can take_, the captain thought as he scanned the city and rested his eyes at the now-opened gate of the Inner Wall._ Not that I had any doubt of it, but the Boss was right._

As he was nodding at his own wisdom, Gart heard something very strange: a noise from the distance. A rhythmic thumping noise against the ground. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought those were…

The captain listened more intently and realised that the sounds _were _what he thought they were: galloping horses, and quite a few of them too. He grinned. Probably the company led by that horse-lover Bors. They _did _manage to capture a bunch of those Iris Knights' horses, after all. _Real _warhorses, not working horses pressed into service like what most mercenaries could ever hope for. He knew Bors wouldn't put off a chance to run around in those, if he didn't get thrown off at first try. _Riding all day after riding all night_, Gart thought, again laughing at himself.

He noticed that the galloping sound was getting closer, but he didn't pay it no heed. Let Bors have his fun.

And then he, and most likely every other Black Dog in the outer districts, heard something that shook them to their very core.

'_O Stavros nika_!'

Gart had no idea what words those are or who shouted them, but he clearly knew what they meant: enemies. The sense of euphoric drowsiness he previously enjoyed vanished like the morning mist under intense sunlight, and he bolted back to his building, clearing the five feet in a single leap in his panic. He ran inside the large, open room beyond the building's entry hall and found his men already stirring, some groping about in an effort to find their clothes and weapons and others just beginning to move.

'On your feet!' he shouted, pulling up the closest soldier for emphasis. He picked up the first pair of trousers he could find and scrambled to wear it while he was walking around the room, his eyes fixed on the floor to spot a sword. He almost bumped into one of his boys, stepped back and tripped on a bitch that was lying face-down on the ground. He saw an unsheathed sword stabbing the ground near the wall next to where the man planted his arse. Outside, the galloping was getting louder, and he heard distant screams along with trumpets that did not sound the same as those he was used to hearing.

'What's going on out there, captain?' one of his boys asked him.

'Enemies,' Gart curtly said, picking up a shield. He looked around for boots and finding a mismatched pair under a table. He looked at the doorway as he tried to wear them. There were even more screams outside. He even heard the pained grunt of an orc or several.

'There aren't supposed to be any!' another one of his boys replied as he looked around for a sword while struggling to put on a too-small tunic.

'Go tell them that, then!' Gart snapped. He gave up trying to look for a sheath or a baldric. There was no more time. The foreign-sounding shouts and more screams audible above the galloping told him as much.

'Listen up!' Gart said, calling his men to attention. All of them stopped whatever it was they were doing and turned to him. 'I don't know how, but we're under attack. As you can hear outside, they seem like damn foreigners out to loot what the rightly looted. Now, no one just up and stabs the Black Dogs in the back like that! We're going to get out there, and we're going to _fucking kill them_! Follow me!'

Gart and his nine men burst out onto the square to find men and demons from all companies gathering there, including men from his own company. The muster was almost completely chaotic, with men and demons in various states of undress emerging onto the square file by file or warband by warband and milling about with no real organisation. No one seemed to be carrying any banners or instruments to command any attention, and the shouting for order or for commanders added to the chaos of the situation. All the while, the sound of galloping, accompanied by the all-too-familiar death-screams and falling bodies, was getting closer.

Gart stood apart from the chaotic mob and started banging the pommel of his sword on his shield to get attention.

'Listen! Listen to me!' he shouted at the top of his lungs. 'Listen up, you feckless whoresons!' Many of the men, mostly those from his company, began turning their attention to him. He saw an ogre punch an orc's head to get it to stand still and pay attention.

'Form up!' Gart ordered as the battle seemed to rage around them. 'Close formation! Shields front! Goblins at the-'

The captain's orders were interrupted by something whistling past his face from the right and something else landing right between his feet. More of the fast, blurry things hit the Black Dogs right at the centre of the formation. Many of them screamed out in pain, and the formation fell into disarray. Gart looked down at the thing that landed between his feet.

It was an arrow.

The enemy horsemen were right at them.

* * *

The Roman koursores crashed upon the unprepared enemy formation about 300-strong like a wave upon the pebbles of the seashore. The enemies, clearly unprepared for the attack and already disrupted by a volley fired by Komes Thomas Aprenos's hippo-toxotai, scattered and fled before the charging wedge of horsemen.

Flight did not save the Black Dogs, however. The Romans' lances grew red with enemy blood as the 46-strong bandon slammed into the right side of the infantry block at speed. Dozens of enemies fell broken on the ground after the initial impact, and many more gained fearful stab wounds to the back as they tried to run. The greater whole of the infantry did manage to flee, but the damage was done.

However, the koursores were in no position to give chase.

Eight Black Dog creatures that stood in the interior of the formation did not run. Those creatures were a group of muscular, pot-bellied greenish-brown brutes standing at almost seven feet, wearing crude rags and armed with large clubs. To the Romans, the creatures' faces seemed to bear features belonging to the faces of men and those of pigs, and the end result was most unpleasant to look upon. Those brutes stayed behind either to cover the retreat of the men or because they cowed by a taller, more muscular two-horned creature that bore a large axe. The Romans instantly knew these new enemies as the demons Stephanos told them about.

The horned demon bellowed an order, and the group charged at the Romans in a loose line, swinging their weapons as they ran. Taken by surprise, the koursores scattered to avoid the charge, but four were still caught. Two were knocked off their horses with brute strength, one sent flying. Another man had his skull bashed. The other was cleaved almost in two along with his horse.

Still, most of the koursores managed to evade the demons' attack and regroup. With the blast of a trumpet and prayers on their lips, the koursores charged once more. The demons found themselves impaled on the lances of more than two dozen koursores from all sides. Komes Theodoros Manouelites, whose lance found its mark before those of his men, would be recorded as the first Roman to have slain a demon.

Arrows then flew over the koursores' heads as Komes Aprenos sent another volley towards the enemy. Manouelites saw the approach of a larger mass of infantry than the one that previously fled. He reassembled his men into wedge formation once more and looked around for an avenue to strike from the enemy's flank. As he thought, though, a distant trumpet blast prompted him to retreat, his duty done for the moment.

* * *

'That's the last of them, Strategos,' Demetrios said as another dekarchia of koursores galloped through the Western Gate of Feoh.

Stephanos nodded. Acting upon his scouts' reports, he had sent Allagator Ioannes Rhadinos's allagion of koursores with two banda of hippo-toxotai into the city of Feoh to lure the enemy out and fight them outside the gates, their advantage in numbers somewhat neutralised by the fact that they need to pass through a gatehouse that could not possibly accommodate them all.

'Sound the order to prepare for battle,' he told Petros, bearer of the tagma's standard. A long, loud blast of a horn called the army to attention and was accompanied by others from each of the assembled banda in the field.

Much of the Roman army's infantry were drawn up in formation about a bowshot and a half away from the city moat, arrayed in a line with a double-depth formation west of the point where the gentle slope from the city flattened out. On the front ranks of the assembled force were the peltastes or kontaratoi, lightly-armoured spearmen armed with the smaller kontarion mikron, among other things. Behind them were the more professionally-trained and heavily-armoured skoutatoi, whose would provide a solid, dependable foundation the infantry can fall back to. The longer kontarion makron wielded by the skoutatoi can also enable the formation to present more spear-points to the enemy, especially in double-depth formation.

Behind the Roman spearmen the tagma's toxotai. They held their bows, solenaria and one dart at the ready, prepared to draw and fire once the order is given. Stephanos originally wanted to begin the battle earlier in the day, but he had to wait for a few hours for the sake of his archers, whose shooting might have been hampered by the sun directly in their line of sight.

Held in reserve behind the army were four banda, including one of the kontaratoi, one of the skoutatoi, and the 300-strong formation of the Varangian Guard. Stephanos placed the Varangians behind the extreme left of the formation, where he expected the fighting to be fiercest. He also hid the last reserve bandon, which was at half strength, in the forest behind the army.

Lady Eliza had spoken of the existence of three other gates in the Outer Wall, one for each cardinal direction. While Stephanos saw that the city's size prevented any flanking attack on his outnumbered force from those gates for several hours, he still made sure he was prepared for flanking attacks from within the same area. The tagma's substantial cavalry contingent were arranged in echelon formations at the wings of the army, slightly behind the infantry. The cavalry echelons extended away from the city to protect against flanking attacks. Stephanos's kataphraktoi, Count de Brienne's Latinikon, and Allagator Kamateros's koursores were positioned on the right wing, covered by two banda of hippo-toxotai. The rest of the hippo-toxotai were placed in another echelon formation in the left

Feoh's outer walls had some siege ladders placed on them, but those were not the Black Dogs'. In fact, the opened gates and the lack of any damage led both Stephanos and Alexios to theorise that at least this part of the city was taken by treachery. That the walls were completely abandoned was an unexpected surprise for the Romans, but it was certainly a welcome one. Stephanos ordered his veteran akritoi to scale the walls in preparation for the battle to come.

The Romans once again raised their war cries to accompany the blast of the trumpets. The now-familiar cries of _o Stavros nika _again thundered from the tagma, along with prayers to Christ, the Theotokos, and various soldier-saints for protection or intercession. Stephanos himself placed a hand over his heart, over his wife's cross necklace, almost as a subconscious action.

'Pray for him, Helena,' he whispered, looking out at the right flank. 'Pray for our son.'

The trumpets soon ceased, and the war-cries gave way to grim silence outside the walls. From within it, however, arose other, more savage sounds, of wordless shouting from the throats of men and other, more abominable creatures. With their weapons in their hands, their brethren by their side, and prayers in their hearts, the Romans braced themselves for the inevitable enemy charge. The Battle for Feoh had truly begun.

* * *

Staurakios Sideros, kontaratos of the front rank, held his breath as he stood at attention at the very edge of the formation. He could hear the shouts from beyond the gate, but he knew the enemies were still a ways off. He wondered what manner of monstrosities the gates of this alien city may cough up. He looked at his kontarion, which was currently lying on the ground, not yet used meant for use.

'Here they come, men,' Dekarchos Ioannes Neokastrites said from beside him as the shouting from within the city walls grew louder.

'Second rank! Third rank! Fourth rank!' the Kentarchos Matthaios Asanes called. 'Present spears!' The three ranks of kontaratoi dutifully lowered their spears.

Staurakios saw a horde of barbarians burst out of the gates almost immediately after the order to present was given. The men were helmet-less and lightly-clad, and they were armed with a wide variety of swords, axes, and spears. Quite a few of them had no shields. As expected, the charging mass attempted to stretch itself to a wide front to attack the Romans from the front and the flanks.

He then saw the men die in droves as the first of the toxotai's solenarion-aided darts reached from further than expected arrow range. The charge, which already did not seem like it had any semblance of organisation, was further disrupted by the men at the tip of the mass falling wounded or dead. Those enemies circling towards the Roman flanks found themselves even more vulnerable due to the greater distance they had to run. Thus, under a heavy storm of darts, the surviving members of the charging enemy mass decided to simply barrel down a straight route towards the Romans at full speed.

'Front rank! Load slings!' the Kentarchos ordered. Dutifully, Staurakios took his sling from his belt and loaded a single lead bullet.

'Prepare!' came the next order. The kontaratos picked a target among the indistinct shapes at the distance and spun his sling so its payload may gather momentum. The next order came just a moment later.

'Loose!'

A hail of lead streaked across the air in concert with the falling storm of darts, and more of the enemies lay dead or dying on the ground. However, the enemies pushed on, simply trampling over the broken bodies of their dead in their haste to reach the Romans. Kentarchos Asanes ordered another volley of lead, and another, and another. The enemies were slowed, but they kept coming, with the living simply trampling over the bodies of the dead and wounded.

'First rank! Present spears!' the Kentarchos ordered when the enemy was less than half a bowshot away. By that time, the toxotai had stopped firing at the front-rankers and were focussing on the greater mass of men behind them. Staurakios went on a semi-kneeling position and raised his spear diagonally like a stake, point presented upward. He braced the weapon under his right armpit and grasped it with a firm right hand while his left hand held the shield out towards the enemy. All the mail-armoured kontaratoi of the first rank did the exact same action at almost the same time, adding a line of metal-tipped stakes to the already thick phalanx presented by the similarly-armoured men of the second rank and the more lightly-armoured ones behind it.

The enemies, the 'Black Dogs', as Staurakios remembered they were called, died screaming upon the Roman spearheads. Such was the momentum of their charge that they were not able to stop quickly enough or were pushed by the men behind them despite being able to stop. The man charging at Staurakios levelled his own spear at the kontaratos and charged low with a growl, but the weapon proved too short. Staurakios lowered his spear by a palm in time for the enemy's approach. The man died, impaled right at the mouth. The spear's tip appeared at the nape of the man's neck. He gurgled what seemed like half-formed words as his lifeblood spewed out of his mouth, and he dropped his spear when his body twitched his last. The added weight on Staurakios's spear prompted him to drop it to the ground again and draw his sword instead.

While the kontaratoi of the front rank knelt and fought to keep their spears steady, the men of the next three ranks pushed and pulled their spears almost in unison as their dekarchoi ordered. And so continued the first frantic engagement of the battle, with the Black Dogs being butchered in an almost mechanical fashion.

The Black Dogs finally broke and fell back to the city after a few minutes of butchery. The toxotai and their mounted brethren were ordered to cease firing both to conserve arrows and to demonstrate to the enemy that running away is the better option.

As the Romans caught their breath, however, even more war cries erupted from within the city. Those new cries were decidedly not from human throats.

* * *

A mob of hundreds of demons emerged from the city gates, bellowing their inhuman war-cries to terrify the men. They were the stout, rag-wearing swine-men first encountered by Manouelites's koursores within the city, and they were armed with clubs or crude axes.

Another storm of darts descended upon the charging demons, but unlike the men, they were not so fragile. While a few demons still fell due to being hit in the head or somewhere particularly important, many of them shrugged off wounds that would have killed a man twice over and kept running, screaming at the Romans with their obscene language. Some of them simply pulled out the darts from their tough hide and continuing as before.

The kontaratoi of the front rank once again loosed their slings and unleashed their lead bullets upon the demons once they got close enough. These weapons were marginally more effective, and more demons fell, their skulls or rib-cages broken beyond all hope of repair. Still, the demons' charge carried on.

The demons smashed upon the Roman centre like a big, meaty fist. Like their human counterparts, they were initially checked by the wall of spearheads, but they were much tougher than men. They waded into the phalanxes, clubs waving. The men of the front rank held, but many of them were pulped by the demon clubs or hacked by their axes. The Roman centre began to buckle.

Meanwhile, the Roman left and right wings found themselves assailed by more men, who emerged from the city and charged behind the demon spearhead. They were softer and more vulnerable than their demonic compatriots, but there were more of them than there were in the previous charge. For the first time in the battle, the Romans found themselves hard-pressed.

* * *

A demon ran towards Staurakios, now armed only with his sword, only to be checked by a pair of spears held by men in the second rank piercing its sides beneath the ribs. Still, the brute persisted, breaking one spear with its hand as the other withdrew. It then took a step forward and brought its club down on Staurakios. The kontaratos managed to react in time and raise his shield to deflect the blow, but he was a breath too late. Staurakios felt his arm tremble and his shoulder dislocate as it took much of the force of the blow.

He did not give up, however. Even as his shield-arm uselessly limped down, he stepped forward inside the range of the demon and stabbed upward with his sword, striking it in the throat. Foul black blood briefly fountained out of the wound when the kontaratos withdrew his weapon, and the demon fell on its face, dead. However, as Staurakios stepped back into the formation, another demon took the place of the dead one. That one was speared in the face by Dekarchos Neokastrites himself.

'Fall back, soldier!' the Dekarchos said, withdrawing his spear and stabbing another demon. 'You're not going anywhere with that arm. Head to the rear ranks, report to the daipotatoi.' Staurakios nodded but stood his ground for the moment. There was no retreating in this situation.

'Keep at it!' Neokastrites called out to his men. 'Drive these bastards back to hell-'

Neokastrites's words were cut off by a demon that broke another soldier's spear and struck him in the side with its club. The brute raised its club high and prepared to finish the Dekarchos off, but Staurakios stepped in and stabbed upwards, hitting it in the chin. The demon had an almost comical confused look on its face as it looked down. The kontaratos simply withdrew his sword and kicked the creature in its fat belly to make it fall to the ground.

'Daipotatos!' he cried out. 'The Dekarchos is hurt!' The demon that he thought he killed stood back up, however, blood freely pouring down from the wound on its chin. It caught Staurakios in a punch that sent him staggering back onto the shields of the second rank. Other soldiers attempted to assist, stabbing at the creature with their spears. The demon seemed to ignore the many wounds on its side, however, either too tough or too stupid to know that they were supposed to kill him. It raised both of its muscular, simian arms and prepared to crush the fallen Neokastrites, but Staurakios managed to recover and manage to lunge at it again. He stabbed again, this time right between the eyes, before withdrawing and stabbing at its open mouth just to be certain. The brute managed to get in a punch on Staurakios's face before finally expiring. The kontaratos saw stars with the blow and also collapsed. The last thing he felt before finally blacking out was the feeling of being dragged backwards.

The last thing he heard was the roar of even more approaching demons.

* * *

'Damn these sons of bitches,' Gart cursed under his breath.

He was the one who reported of the attack to Otho, who immediately responded by sending the bulk of his men towards the Western Gate to crush the bastards with the weight of numbers. The first charge simply didn't work thanks to the enemies' overly long spears, unfairly long-ranged dart-throwers, and slings. _Slings_, in this day and age.

_And what the fuck is up with those spears_, he thought. _These bastards are compensating for something, I know it_.

As he ducked in cover under the shadow of the walls, Gart recalled what he saw of the enemies. They seemed to be shining in the sun, for some reason. _What, are they wearing metal_? He asked. He then chuckled at himself for such a thought. If those fools were wearing metal, they must be stupider than he thought. _I mean, how would they move? They'd get tired __after a few minutes of fighting at best_.

General Otho then decided to get serious and send the orcs forward as shock troops and goblin archers to pick off the enemies from the walls. But it turned out that the enemies, those cheeky bastards, actually placed men on the walls. And those men had javelins. And those javelins soon found their way onto goblin guts. And to add insult to injury, the men managed to re-position some of the wall-mounted ballistae and turn them onto the Black Dogs below. _The bastards_, he thought.

'Gart!' General Otho barked, coming in from behind him. 'Those bastards are still on my wall!'

'They have us pinned good here, sir,' he admitted. 'We can't do anything with those ballistae trained on us.'

A bolt from one of the said ballistae fell on a group of Black Dogs to their left as if to emphasise Gart's point.

'I need more goblins! Where are the goblins?!' Otho asked. He looked around and found them cowering inside more distant buildings. 'Why aren't those damned cowards firing?!'

'Goblin bows can't reach that high, sir,' Gart said. 'And those cowards just saw their friends get stabbed to death earlier.'

'Where are _our _archers, then?' Otho growled.

'Busy with those Iris bitches,' Gart answered. 'They just _had _to keep fighting after they surrendered.'

'Damn them all,' Otho said. 'Send your men up the walls' staircases to reinforce the goblins on the walls. Flush those sons of bitches out!'

'But sir, weren't we supposed to circle through the North Gate?' Gart asked.

'There's no point in circling through the North Gate if we're open to ballista shots in here!' Otho snapped.

'Y-yes sir, sending my men up the walls, sir!'

Otho then stormed off towards the gatehouse again in a fury. Gart snarled at his general direction before turning his gaze back to the walls. Those staircases Otho spoke of were narrow, and the enemies had command of them. Their ballistae also had a commanding field of fire, looking down upon the city as they were. There only seemed to be a few hundred enemies up there, but their position seemed unassailable. Gart knew that Otho knew he was sending his men off to die in droves.

_Damn him, then. And damn these backstabbing bastards._

Another large ballista bolt flew past the captain, who ducked for cover again. Gart looked to see the bolt hit an orc square in the chest. The big lunk dumbly looked at the bolt that struck him, took an uncertain step forward, and fell to its side.

'_Ai sto diaolo_!' A call echoed from the walls. Gart had no idea what that meant, but he was sure that was an insult.

'Well, fuck you too!' he called back before waving his men onwards. Onwards to the walls, onwards to their deaths.

* * *

'Our centre is buckling, my lord,' Demetrios told Stephanos, who was atop his horse to the right. 'Yet it continues to hold. Those demons are indeed formidable.'

'We expected as much,' Stephanos answered. As he spoke, the first bolts and stones fired from Alexios's siege engines reached the battle, reaping a fine harvest of enemies. 'Things are moving much as we have planned.'

'That is little comfort to the men out there, sir,' Demetrios said. 'They are still dying.'

'And we shall do everything we can to end such a state of affairs,' Stephanos replied. 'Send a messenger to Olafsson. Tell him to reposition his Varangians to the centre and reinforce the men there. Order Psellos to send his skoutatoi to reinforce the left flank and Bourtzes to send his kontaratoi to the right. We will proceed with the planned-'

A messenger rode up to Stephanos and Demetrios, interrupting the Strategos's order.

'I beg your pardon, my lord,' the messenger said. 'But I have urgent news from the left. Another group of demons is charging straight towards their position. They fear they cannot hold without reinforcements.'

Stephanos sighed. 'The situation has become difficult, then,' he admitted. 'I rescind my previous orders,' he told Demetrios. 'Olafsson will remain where he is and will strike from the left flank. Bourtzes will go to reinforce him. Psellos will reinforce the centre. As I was saying before, we will begin the gradual withdrawal of the right wing under covering fire by the hippo-toxotai earlier than planned. Prepare our cavalry for action.'

'Yes, sir,' Demetrios answered.

Stephanos then turned to the messenger. 'Send a message to Komes Argyros of the Emperor's troops,' he ordered. 'Tell him it is time.'

* * *

'The order is given?' Primikerios Harald Olafsson asked.

'It is, my lord,' the messenger answered. 'You are to strike from the left and hold the flank at all costs. The Strategos advises you to expect heavy resistance.'

Harald smiled within his mailled veil. 'As any resistance arrayed against the Varangian Guard should be,' he said. 'You are dismissed.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

The Primikerios then turned to his men.

'Varangians!' he called out. 'Our God-ordained Emperor is elsewhere, in a distant world with distant cares. Yet we are still his, oath-sworn to fight in his name, for his honour! Let these barbarian wretches know of our Emperor's name through the thunder of our voices and the smiles of our axes!'

'_Basileus Ioannes_!' he roared.

'_Sy nikas_!_ Sy nikas_!_ Sy nikas_!' came his Varangians' reply.

And so the Varangians, Norsemen, Swedes, Rus', and Englishmen, charged amidst descending Roman arrows and projectiles from the siege equipment. They hacked and chopped at the enemy with disciplined fury and brought about a slaughter so great that the entirety of the Black Dogs' right flank looked as if it was about to collapse right then and there. The rest of the Roman left followed up and advanced, taking up their chant.

'_Sy nikas_!_ Sy nikas_!_ Sy nikas_!'

Such was the butchery among the men that day that the words _sy nikas _– 'may you conquer' – became a by-word among the Black Dogs for the Romans' bloodstained axemen and the terror they caused.

The Varangians' advance was only checked once the demons' charge crashed into their own. These seemed to be different demons, tall, muscle-bound, their crude-looking faces ending in two small horns. They were dressed in crude leather armour and carried swords that resembled oversized meat cleavers.

Harald smiled even as he used his axe to block a downward strike by one of the demons. The Varangian Primikerios and the brute seemed to match each other, strength for strength. Harald, however, had more cunning. He struck with a kick to the enemy's stomach, causing the demon to take a step back and disengage. The Varagian then swung his axe in a wide horizontal arc to strike at the demon's torso, but it dodged with another backward step. That did not bother Harald, though, for he simply took a step forward and thrust his axe upwards, hitting the brute's eye with the point created by the upward curve of the weapon. The brute wasted a moment to cry out in pain, and the Varangian punished it by bringing his axe down and cleaving its skull.

'_Basileus Ioannes_!' Harald roared in triumph.

'_Sy nikas_!' His Varangians replied.

Despite the Roman left holding, the centre and right remain contested. Such was the straits of the Roman centre that their kontaratoi fell back to make room for the skoutatoi in an action similar to the old manipular legion falling back to their triarii. Only Komes Psellos's timely reinforcement with more skoutatoi helped stabilise the situation against a renewed demon push, though the Romans continued their gradual retreat. The Roman right also held against the Black Dogs' left, but it seemed to be giving ground more quickly than the centre. Their once-straight formation was starting to become more and more oblique, slowly opening outwards like a door with its left wing as the hinge.

In the Roman right, Stephanos rearranged his cavalry echelon so that the diagonal formation was facing the Black Dogs' left, which was becoming more and more exposed.

* * *

The two priests who accompanied the Romans to the battle stayed near the field hospital in the forest well behind the rear lines. There, they saw the daipotatoi riding towards the surgeons' tents to bring in bloodied soldiers. They could hear the pained cries of men as the surgeons attempted to reset broken bones or close up wounds, and they could hear the distant sounds of battle.

One of them, old Father Makarios, was on his knees, eyes closed in prayer. The other, the younger Father Christodoulos, was also supposed to be praying, but his eyes could not help but wander to the battle.

'You are worried, Brother Christodoulos,' Father Makarios remarked from the younger priest's right. Father Christodoulos looked at the older priest questioningly. He knew Father Makarios was supposed to be deep in prayer.

The younger priest shook his head. 'I am, Brother,' he admitted.

Father Makarios opened his eyes and smiled in understanding. 'You did not seem as worried in Caesarea,' he remarked. 'And that battle was larger than this.'

'Indeed,' Father Christodoulos said, nodding. 'But our soldiers fought mere men in Caesarea. Here, they face demons in the most direct form of combat. Surely we, as their appointed ministers, can do more for them than simply pray for their success well behind the battle.'

'An admirable sentiment, Brother,' Father Makarios replied. 'But for the moment, we do not know what it is we can do. Pray with me in silence for a while. Let us listen to the voice of our Lord.'

Father Christodoulos nodded, and together, the two priests bowed their heads in prayer.

As he prayed, a wave of calm seemed to spread from within Father Christodoulos. He did not know why, but he again opened his eyes and turned his gaze to the surgeons' tents. There, he saw the banners of the tagma fluttering proudly in the wind. He saw the double-headed eagle of the ruling Komnenoi alongside the sacred Chi-Rho, that ancient sign by which the Emperor Konstantinos Megas conquered. He also saw the banner of the Kalomeroi: a gold cross upon a red field, with four stylised, firesteel-shaped instances of the letter 'B' in every quadrant, each letter facing the side of the banner its quadrant was in.

It was a simple design whose meaning was a simple prayer, one fitting of the Emperor's loyal subjects: _Cross of the King of __kings, aid the Emperor._

Father Christodoulos immediately knew what he had to do. He stood up, gaining a questioning glance from Father Makarios. He nodded at the older priest, cleared his throat, and started to sing.

The hymn, like the message of the Kalomeroi's banner, was a simple prayer.

* * *

_ O Lord, save Thy people  
and bless thine inheritance,_

_ granting to the Emperor victory  
over the barbarians._

_ And by the power of Thy Cross,  
preserving Thy Commonwealth._

The sacred words of the troparion, sung by a lone voice, echoed throughout the battlefield and beyond. Everyone in Feoh and its surrounds, from the Romans fighting on the front lines to the Iris Knights who renewed their resistance, and even the frightened citizens huddled within the keep of the First Fortress, heard that lone voice, and everyone understood the words as if they were sung in their native tongue.

_ O Lord, save Thy people  
and bless thine inheritance,_

_ granting to the Emperor victory  
over the barbarians._

_ And by the power of Thy Cross,  
preserving Thy Commonwealth._

The lone voice of Father Christodoulos was soon accompanied by another, an older, hoarser voice, but still clear and filled with conviction. Yet more voices began joining in as the wounded, the servants, the soldiers, and everyone in the Roman side began to join in, forming a mighty chorus.

The troparion's effect on the Romans was immediate. Each of the soldiers felt peace and courage burn bright in their hearts, and a great calm washed over them despite the hardships of battle. Those flagging in spirit found inspiration, the weary found new strength, and the wounded felt no pain. The gradual retreat of the centre and right was halted, with each soldier standing his ground and fighting with restored strength.

The demons too were seemingly affected. All of them felt a chilling wave of nameless fear, with images of flame and brimstone appearing in their minds. Many of the demons shivered and loosened their grips on their weapons while others felt a sudden and overpowering enervation. The more cowardly varieties of demon, the small, red snub-nosed creatures fighting the akritoi on the walls, outright ran away or leapt to their doom in the streets below.

* * *

'See now how God fights on our behalf,' Stephanos said.

'Indeed, sir,' Demetrios answered. 'I must admit I was worried a while ago, but I know that the day is certainly ours now.'

'And now let us make use of this chance He has provided to truly seize victory,' Stephanos remarked. By this time, the Roman formation was at an oblique order, with the enemy left completely exposed to the three Roman cavalry wedges facing them. The first rank of the infantry's right wing was completely in the same level as the edge of his kataphraktoi's blunt wedge.

'Send a messenger to Alexios and to Argyros,' the Strategos ordered Demetrios. 'Tell them that the signal is given. They are to proceed as planned.'

* * *

A half-strength bandon of 200 Romans marched forth from the forest behind the Roman lines, circling to the edge of the Roman right and faced the Black Dogs' left wing from the flank. It halted at around 30 feet from their enemies, who raised their shields in preparation for some new trick.

The front line of this bandon is made up of elite skoutatoi from the Emperor's own household troops. This is evidenced by the Komnenian symbol – the crowned black double-headed eagle on a gold field – painted on their shields. The skoutatoi raised their shields and lowered their spears. However, they did not charge. Instead, they opened up their formation and allowed the men behind them to step up.

Those men were siphonatores.

* * *

As he easily predicted, the men of Gart's company were being slaughtered atop that damned wall. About an hour had passed after the order, and they were no closer to getting atop one staircase than before. Apparently, the enemies _did _wear metal. Some of his men reported that their swords couldn't do shit when they didn't hit small exposed weak spots or something. And he had to admit they were good with their javelins, either throwing them or using them as spears. _Damn them all_, the Black Dog captain thought for the umpteenth time.

The enemies had stopped firing their captured ballistae, however. It seemed that they ran out of ammunition. The enemies on the walls also didn't seem too interested in advancing, possibly because they didn't have the numbers. Instead of sending his men to another pointless charge up an enemy that won't attack them, Gart sent his remaining men towards the gate to fight some bastards on level ground for once. General Otho was furious, but he was assuaged a bit when the captain said Bors's riders were both not doing anything at the moment and were at relatively full strength, unlike his almost-depleted company.

And so, Gart and his men charged out the gate with much gusto as part of the forces hitting the hard-pressed enemy right flank. As he sent his men to march at the double towards the enemy, though, he saw some of the enemies marching towards them from the left. _More bastard spearmen_, he thought.

As he set his men on a shield wall to find a chance to slip inside the spears' range, though, the enemy spear wall opened up to reveal more metal men with a strange weapon shaped like an open mouth.

'What the fu-' he began.

A roaring storm of fire then blanketed the Black Dogs' left wing, sprayed from the mouths of the men's weapons. Gart only managed to dodge because he instinctively jumped away and fell to the ground at just the right time.

_Fire magic! The bastards have that many magicians! _He thought as his men screamed and died all around him, some attempting to roll on the ground to put out the fires. That didn't seem to work. He looked around and saw dozens – no, _hundreds_ – of men on fire, running and flailing about, desperately trying to put out the fires. He crawled out of the way, looked at the retreating form of those fire mages and their bodyguards, and decided right then and there to drop his weapons and leg it as quickly as he can back to the gatehouse. He knew that the smart choice in this instance was not to fight the spearmen with oversized spears, not to fight the metal men, and not to fight the damned fire mages.

He then saw even more fireballs descend from the sky onto the Black Dogs' lines, more of them catch fire, and he knew that running back to the city – _to warn General Otho of the fire mages, of course _– is the smart course of action. As he ran, he saw Captain Hans, an old friend, pull his wineskin out of his belt to try and put out the fire on his left forearm. He poured water onto the flames, but all that did was spread them across his entire arm and the rest of him.

'That's just not fair,' Gart said aloud, though he thought he kept that to himself. Not that anyone actually paid attention to him, though.

When he reached the gatehouse, Gart heard more familiar sounds amidst the sound and fury of battle: trumpets and the all-too-familiar sound of galloping. The Black Dog captain could do nothing more than fell on his knees in despair.

'Seriously not fair!' he screamed to the uncaring heavens.

* * *

The siphonatores' fire attack opened a great gash in the Black Dogs' left, and Alexios's single volley of pots filled with liquid fire further disrupted what little order the enemies had. Stephanos took advantage of this development as planned, unleashing his cavalry onto the enemy.

The blunted wedge of the kataphraktoi struck at the enemy's front lines, followed up by Rhadinos's koursores, which had rested up after their earlier foray into the city.

Meanwhile, de Brienne's Latinikon knights and Kamateros's koursores struck at the enemy's rear, depriving the Black Dogs outside the gate of reinforcements. The hippo-toxotai were divided evenly to support both cavalry forces.

The cavalry provided the hammer while the infantry was the anvil upon which the Black Dogs were placed. With the fire provided by the siphonatores and the siege engines, their ranks were judged to be heated enough. The battle was over. The slaughter had begun.

* * *

'Prepare maces,' Stephanos ordered as his kataphraktoi approached the enemy at a slow trot.

'Front rank! Maces!' Demetrios echoed. The kataphraktoi of the front rank immediately complied and took out the first of their maces, which had heavier heads and shorter handles.

'Aim,' Stephanos ordered.

'Aim!'

The kataphraktoi lifted their maces in preparation for the next order.

'Now,' Stephanos said once the enemies were close enough.

'Loose!'

A wave of heavy steel flew onto the Black Dogs from their left, crushing bone, pulping organs, breaking limbs, and cracking skulls. The mace Demetrios threw found its mark right in the middle of a big demon's face, and its skull split in two. Stephanos ordered another volley as they came closer.

'Speed up. Prepare lances,' he ordered.

'Lances!' Demetrios echoed once more.

'To victory, men!' Stephanos thundered. '_O Stavros nika_!'

'_O Stavros nika_!'

Unlike their knightly equivalents in the west, the Roman kataphraktoi did not engage in furious charges with all speed towards the foe. Their heavier armour and use of easier-to-handle geldings and mares did not allow such manoeuvres. Instead, they first moved in slowly, allowing the arrows of the hippo-toxotai and their own throwing maces to soften up the enemies before moving in at a medium canter, lances levelled. While that made them less effective when fighting mounted knights on level ground, it also made them devastatingly powerful against infantry. In fact, such a manoeuvre was all but unstoppable against lightly-armoured infantry with spears of insufficient length.

This was a lesson the Black Dogs learned in blood.

Stephanos's kataphraktoi struck the exposed Black Dog left like an iron mace on an open wound. The armoured horsemen smote the disorganised rabble even as the hippo-toxotai's arrows slew the reinforcements what reinforcements attempted to surround them and the following koursores charged in to follow up and open a path towards the city. The lances of the kataphraktoi bit deep, drinking their fill of the red blood of men and black blood of demons.

Stephanos struck a demon in the gut with his lance but failed to kill it. Unable to pull the weapon out, he instead took out his third mace, which was made entirely of iron and with a longer handle to facilitate use in melee combat. He struck at the creature's skull as it attempted to fight back, and it fell as a broke heap in the ground.

A particularly intrepid man ran up to the Strategos from behind and struck him in the side with a spear. However, armoured as he was with layered raw cotton, lamellar, mail and silk, the weapon did not harm him. Stephanos turned towards the man to strike back, only to find that another kataphraktos had done the job for him.

Faced with such overwhelming force, the Black Dogs outside the gate broke and routed. They ran through the left flank, choosing to brave the Varangians' axes rather than the fire and the kataphraktoi. Many of them did not make it.

The Battle of Feoh, where the Romans took on a force five times their size, ended in a crushing Roman victory. More than a third of the Black Dog force lay dead, including many of their demons. In comparison, the Romans suffered 221 dead and 1,232 wounded.

Still, the issue of chasing down the Black Dogs that remained within the city remained.

* * *

'Men!' Count Robert de Brienne called out. 'Are we going to let these Greeks gain all the honour of victory?'

His knights shouted replies in the overwhelming negative.

'Then follow me, and show these Black Dog scum the might of French knighthood! _Dieu le veut_!'

'_Deus vult_!'

The knights charged in a wedge through the gates, scattering the Black Dogs before them. The enemies, already demoralised by the supernatural effects of the holy troparion, the fire, and the initial cavalry charge, further broke and attempted to flee. Some to even more walls within the city, others to different parts of the city.

It mattered not. The charge of the French Latinikon proved unstoppable. What few arrows were launched onto the knights from within some buildings pinged off their helmets and haubergeons, being of insufficient strength to truly do any damage. A few demons attempted to hold their ground, but they too fell to the might of couched lance and heavy hoof.

'The slaying of demons for the salvation of the innocent,' Jean, one of Robert's fellow knights, remarked as they rode further into the city. 'Is this not chivalry's highest calling?'

Robert laughed. 'Perhaps it is, my friend,' he said with a smile. 'Perhaps it is.'

The knights soon entered a wide square that contained naught but corpses, and there, they linked up with the koursores led by the Allagator Zeno Kamateros. Robert met with Kamateros to discuss what they should do, and they agreed on a pincer manoeuvre towards the gates of the city's inner walls.

As the Roman horsemen left, Robert caught the sight of the Strategos Stephanos's young son, Markos, and raised a hand in greeting. He knew of how much Stephanos doted on the boy but refused to give him an accelerated path to command simply because he was his son. The boy will have to prove himself and work his way up through his merits, as the Strategos did. And for the time being, young Markos showed promise, making a name for himself among his superiors as a courageous and aggressive commander, a man after Robert's heart. The young Komes raised a hand in response.

'Good hunting, young man,' Robert whispered.

* * *

Alicia leaned on one of the pillars of the First Fortress's outer gatehouse, completely exhausted thanks to the events of the day. Shamed by her truly decision to surrender her entire city in her attempt to save the nuns of the Grand Priory, she instead ordered the Iris Knights to sally forth from the walls and charge the Black Dogs, who only left a token force, mostly of human and goblin archers, thanks to the arrival of the strange reinforcements.

The charge had worked, at the cost of all but 86 of the Iris Knights. Many of the survivors were wounded. In retrospect, the Princess of Feoh knew that it was a foolhardy move, one almost as foolish as her previous decision to surrender. Were it not for their reinforcements' strange magic somehow removing her knights' fatigue and unnerving the enemies, they would all have been dead upon the grounds of the First Fortress's courtyard.

'Princess Alicia!' an Iris Knight called out. Alicia recognised the voice and turned to see Ophelia's all-too-familiar brown eyes and orange hair cut in a vaguely masculine fashion. 'Camilla reports that the Black Dogs are in flight towards other gates of the Outer Wall. The battle is won, your highness. The city is ours.'

Alicia shook her head.

'No,' she said with a sad smile. 'It's theirs.' She gestured at the direction of the west gate.

Ophelia shot her a questioning glance. 'Are they not our allies?' she asked.

'We can only hope they are,' Alicia answered. She gazed at the Western Gate again before turning back to Ophelia. 'Go and tell our sisters to stand down. I will meet these newcomers myself.'

'And if they turn out not to be our allies after all…?' Ophelia asked, her voice uncertain.

Alicia again shook her head and smiled sadly, answering the question with one of her own. 'As we are right now, do you think we can defeat an army that defeated a force of more than 20,000?' She looked away again. 'After today's dishonour, the least I can do is ensure that all of you remain alive.'

Ophelia put a consoling hand on her commander's shoulder.

'The Black Dogs forced you to surrender using the lowest, most dishonourable way possible,' she said. 'Let the people judge you. Let all of Eostia judge you. I know in my heart that the Knights of Iris will ever be at your side.'

Alicia turned to Ophelia again and smiled, this one genuine yet tinged with tears.

'I- thank you, Ophelia,' she said. 'But truly, I wish to meet these newcomers alone.'

'Alright, my lady,' she knight replied. 'Just… take care of yourself.'

Alicia nodded and watched Ophelia's back as she left. After the knight turned and left her field of vision, Alicia's gaze again moved to the direction of the West Gate, and she surveyed her city after the battle.

_Tens of thousands of my people must have died_, she thought. _And I almost surrendered those that survived to scoundrels. I have failed them, father, mother._ Tears started flowing from her eyes, and she fell down on her knees on the cold ground. There, she sobbed, silently but bitterly. _I am unworthy of the Arcturus name_, she thought.

The sound of galloping hooves broke through Alicia's mourning. She tried to wipe her tears and lifted her head, squinting her eyes to better see the shapes at the distance.

She saw horses and men, with one horse galloping, seemingly at full speed, straight at her. Alicia stood as still as a statue, her hand upon the hilt of her sword. However, she relaxed after a few minutes when she heard a familiar voice calling out to her.

'Princess Alicia!'

Alicia knew that voice: Eliza, Knight-Novitiate of the Order, whom she sent with Clara to Ur to ask for reinforcements. She obviously did not reach Ur, but she did succeed in bringing in reinforcements. Alicia's heart leapt with joy, and she smiled in relief. _I guess this means these reinforcements are friendly_, she thought.

Novitiate Eliza rode up to Alicia dressed in the most outlandish of fashions. She wore a thick green coat that seemed to have been slashed on one side, and her hair was wrapped with what seemed like a piece of cloth. She clutched a bloody sword on the one hand. The horse she was riding in was not the same one she lent her, the one from the royal stables, and her saddle had… _things_ protruding form underneath it that seemed to serve as footrests.

'Novitiate Eliza, returning to duty,' Eliza said after hopping off her horse. 'Forgive me, Commander, but I have failed to reach Feoh to ask for reinforcements.'

Alicia quietly laughed and shook her head.

'Yet you are here, with reinforcements,' she said.

'Y-yes I am,' Eliza said with a sheepish smile. 'But I'm afraid they came to _me _instead of coming to them.'

More of the horsemen galloped towards Alicia and stopped at roughly the place where Eliza stopped her horse. Alicia took a good look at them and noticed many things. The most salient thing she saw was that all of their weapons were bloodied by action. The second one was that they were wearing coats seemingly made of interlinking metal chains.

Two figures also got off their horses and stood next to Eliza. One was a tall, broad, gruff-looking man with a large axe and a great beard. The other was shorter and slimmer, young and clean-looking, even handsome if Alicia wanted to admit that to herself.

'_Thou must be Alicia Arcturus, _despotissa_ of this _kastron,' the younger man said with a respectful bow and a smile, though Alicia noticed he is trying too hard to keep his gaze on her face. His language was strangely-accented, archaic-sounding, and contains strange words, but Alicia could recognise the sacred language of the elves anywhere. '_I bring you our salutations. I am Markos Kalomeros, _komes_ of this _bandon_.'_

* * *

**Hey look, elf-language is Medieval Greek with a weird accent and some words missing. How convenient.**

**In case you didn't know, that song there is the Troparion of the Holy Cross. It was once sung in battlefields as unofficial national anthem for Orthodox countries. The current version has a different third and fourth stanza and is understood to have meanings related to spiritual warfare. Was the song also used by the Byzantine Empire? I don't know, but given the very consistent nature of Orthodoxy, I'm guessing it's plausible.**

**And also in case you didn't know, a Byzantine _kontarion mikron _or 'small spear' is a decidedly-not-small 2.5 metres (or about 8 feet) long while a _kontarion makron _or 'large spear' is a whopping 4.4 metres (~12/13 feet) long, comparable to a Macedonian sarissa. That said, those lengths didn't seem to be uniform and might be longer or shorter. In this story, the Black Dogs use standard fantasy 6 or 7-foot long spears. Now you know why that captain was complaining about spear length. Throwing maces are also a thing that apparently existed in the sources. According to one Byzantine story, the Emperor Basil I went on a hunt and threw a mace at a wolf that one time. Emperor Nikephoros Phokas also told his kataphraktoi to carry three maces, a lance, and a sword. Now, maybe those maces are meant to be back-ups since horsemen can't really pick up their weapons if they lose them in the heat of battle, but I chose to interpret that as having two throwing maces and one regular mace. Finally, a _daipotatoi _is a servant tasked with carrying wounded soldiers to field hospitals. The Byzantines invented the idea of medics and field hospitals just like how they invented hospitals in general. Just another thing the Romans did for us. **

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: They actually relied on mercenaries a bit too much, which led them to be in really deep trouble in the original story once the mercenaries decide they don't like serving any more. Let's just hope they wise up with the Byzantines in this story.**

**Perseus12: And now they're dead meat that have run away. Yay.**

**Acerze: What's more evil is that this took longer to upload than I expected because I just had to insert those Black Dog viewpoint parts and tack in Alicia's POV at the last minute. Did I really have to? I have no idea.**

**Aznereth: And there's the battle. Why the Black Dog general didn't think of flanking the Byzantines with the other gates while the Byzantine general clearly did, I don't know. Probably because the Black Dog was too mad. And as for that book in _Of Dogs and Kings_, maybe its writer also had some connection with mercenaries himself? If I remember correctly, his name began with an M… **

**Edboy4926: And now the first battle is over. Yay.**

**VGBlackwing: Those were 'dozens' of nuns, so it's 24 at the very least. And to be fair, Alicia had about three days of no sleep there. That's enough time for even the calmest minds to slip up and make very stupid decisions. But now Alicia's so emotionally broken up over the decision that she decided she no longer wants to be princess. I wonder what happens now.**

**UN Peacekeeper: And here's that next chapter. I can only hope I didn't disappoint.**

**By the way, you see that Kalomeros flag? That's exactly the emblem of the Palaiologoi, otherwise known as the Byzantine flag in _EU4_, _CK2_, and other places. The meaning of the four betas is also one interpretation of what the flag means besides the more pretentious _King of Kings, Ruling Over Rulers_ pop culture thinks it means.**

**That's it from me for now. Next time, post-battle shenanigans, when the Byzantines finally realise that yes, the Eostian knights really do fight while dressed like that. After that, we return to our regular Settra-based programming. Or maybe even before, depending on which chapter I finish first.**


	7. Aftermath

**Happy New Year! ****The previous year, I learned that writing ****big battles is ****actually easier than writing human characters to seem… well, human. ****I'm still actually trying to get the hang of that.**

**This chapter contains some of the after-action things that happened shortly after the Battle of Feoh, ****including the Byzantines actually meeting ****what passes for Feoh's leadership, ****Byzantines ****commenting**** at hentai 'armour',**** and ****layered ****cataphract armour doing what it's supposed to do. I also used that thing in a previous chapter where italicised words written inside quotation marks '_like this_' are spoken in a language other than the viewpoint character's native tongue.**

* * *

Chapter VI  
Aftermath

The blast of horns and the sounding of trumpets marked the end of the Battle of Feoh. Although the Black Dogs still had almost triple the Romans' numbers, they scattered after Stephanos ordered his cavalry to attack, having lost all stomach for the fight. They no longer wished to fight these strange metal men who fought in blocks of a hundred at a time, made use of powerful fire magic, and had seemingly invincible metal horsemen.

The bulk of the Black Dogs fled back to the mountain pass from whence they poured from. Stephanos ordered the hippo-toxotai to give chase, and the fleeing mercenaries had to contend with the arrows of the mounted horsemen until they reached the shadow of the peaks of Garan. A few hundred of the Dogs tried to flee inside the city to link up with their comrades still besieging the First Fortress and make a stand at the Inner Wall. They were cut down by Kamateros's koursores and de Brienne's Latinikon, the allies they desperately counted on choosing to flee the city.

There was still sporadic fighting in the nobles' quarters, but as a whole, the fall of the city's centre to the Romans was only a matter of time. Such was the message de Brienne chose to send to Stephanos, who chose to cut his pursuit short before his troops get too exhausted and to join in securing the city instead.

As the sky began to turn red and the sun began to dip into the western horizon, the Roman soldiers still outside the walls entered the city to link up with Kamateros, de Brienne, and any friendly native forces they may have encountered. All in all, they won a decisive victory, worthy of Roman arms.

* * *

But all that such a victory won was burnt-out devastation.

The kataphraktoi, vanguard of the Roman contingent, rode amidst a city in ruin. All around them was silence, with no sound other than the insistent clattering of hooves and the faint crackling of distant fires. The stench – of death and filth and human misery – was almost overpowering. And as Stephanos rode alongside his men, he and all the others saw all the sights of a city laid low by barbarians.

The Strategos saw thick black pillars of smoke rising from ruined houses and shops. The fires left only ash and burnt stumps of timber many of the buildings of wattle and daub – those of the commoners – and left blackened facades of stone structures that did little to hide the desolation within. He saw once-proud arches, fountains, monuments or statues of men or other beings defaced or smashed to the ground entirely. He saw buildings reduced to rubble, all manner of tools produced by civilised men – from weapons to furniture to pottery – lying broken on the ground, and even plant life uprooted and trampled underfoot.

But the aspects of the fallen city that caught Stephanos's attention most of all were the dead bodies. The mangled corpses of men and demons lay wallowing in drying pools of their own blood and filth. Barring the presence of the demons, it was a sight not unlike those he had seen after countless battles in the old world.

He saw other corpses – men dressed in some military fashion or the old and the infirm – hanging by the neck on the branches of dead trees, upon gallows, or from the higher windows of some surviving structures. Many of them had deep gashes in their torsos. Others were rendered into pincushions by dozens of arrows. All of them had the brands burned onto their skins and expressions of wide-eyed terror. Stephanos frowned at the scene, and he felt a pang of pity for the slain stab his chest. He thought of ordering his men to dismount and take the poor souls down, but he quickly quashed it. Surely there was still a chance that at least part of the enemy remained with them. Instead, he looked around, keeping a tight grip on his mace.

As Stephanos gazed upon a hanged elderly woman, he realised he had seen similar acts of barbarity before. One of the more recent cases surfaced in his mind, one upon a border village close to Margat during the Emperor's Syrian campaign. The ruling Zengids burned the village and erected a forest of gallows, from which they hanged all adult men of fighting age and the elderly. Upon questioning at a later time, the Atabeg of the Zengids told him that he punished the village for harbouring an elite agent of the hated Order of Assassins. Even under strict questioning, he showed no guilt and claimed the righteousness of his act. The Strategos raised his mace to avenge the villagers then and there. However, as he was about to lower the heavy mace head onto the Saracen's skull, a single, treacherous thought assailed him.

_If you were dealing with the Assassins and their sympathisers yourself, would you have done any differently?_

Stephanos could not answer in the negative with full confidence. Such was the fear the Assassins brought upon Christian and Muslim alike. After taking a deep breath to try and still himself, the Strategos strapped his mace back to his belt and left in self-directed disgust.

Another new horror of the Black Dogs' doing brought Stephanos back to the present. The kataphraktoi passed through a small square that terminated in a stone niche whose statue had been reduced to bloodstained rubble on the ground. In front of it, possibly placed as a mockery of a votive offering, was a pile of heads of men, likely defenders of the city that the Black Dogs found particularly difficult to deal with. A pole that contained the impaled head of one particular man, probably the one that led this band.

As he passed by the grim monument, Stephanos's mind was again brought back to memories of his world, of a particular Cuman chieftain who also piled up the decapitated heads of defeated Roman soldiers before the town of Nikopolis to try and force the inhabitants to surrender. Unlike the Atabeg, however, Stephanos did not have the chance to question him; he died in battle, speared through the throat by Zeno Kamateros, then a promising dekarchos of the koursores. Kamateros was rewarded and promoted to Komes for this achievement.

Stephanos and his men followed a right turn on the road to avoid the rubble of a fallen structure, and what they saw brought the greatest sense of indignation to them out of all the others atrocities of their enemies.

On either side of a clear street leading up to what looked like the defaced shell of a Catholic convent – a detail lost on most of the Orthodox Romans – were two rows of crucified men and women, each cross placed about eight paces away from the next. All of the victims were all stripped naked, with large parts of their body swollen and discoloured from numerous beatings. Blood flowed from numerous wounds that criss-crossed their bodies, and their chests bore an ugly brand that vaguely looked like a dog's head in profile and a dagger. Stephanos gritted his teeth in anger at the blasphemous sight.

'Bastards,' Demetrios hissed from beside Stephanos. The Strategos silently nodded. Whatever atrocities the Black Dogs did to Feoh were horrific, he thought, but he realised something possibly even more horrifying: none of the acts were truly new to him. More than the blood and gore of the day, it was the familiarity of the atrocities that sent a chill down the Strategos's spine.

_These are the acts of demons and men in league with them_, he thought. _Yet the men of our world, where demons do not walk in the flesh, do the same things. I wonder, what does that say about us?_

'Some of the men are asking for permission to bring down these poor souls, sir,' Demetrios told Stephanos as they crossed the cross-lined street. He looked at the dark upper windows of the two-storey structures on either side of the street. 'And frankly, I'm almost inclined to agree with them.'

'Not at this time,' Stephanos replied. 'Not until we have ascertained that no more enemies remain within the city. For all we know, this path could lead to a-'

A sharp snap and a crashing noise from the building to their left interrupted Stephanos's explanation and brought his kataphraktoi to attention once more. Each man of the leading bandon faced the source of the sound, shields and weapons at the ready, prepared for enemy attack.

Moments passed, yet all remained still.

Stephanos turned to Demetrios and pointed at the gestured with a turn of his head. The Topoteretes nodded in understanding and dismounted his horse, ready to enter the building. The Strategos gestured for four others to join Demetrios while he and the standard-bearer Petros Sgouros followed closely on horseback, placed on either flank of the four men. The rest of the kataphraktoi formed a protective phalanx of armoured horsemen around them, tense hands gripping their lances, swords and maces tightly.

Demetrios and his companions entered the building slowly and with weapons drawn, but they did not encounter any enemies at the doorway. The building remained silent, and Demetrios and the others left it unharmed after a few minutes.

The topoteretes walked up to Stephanos.

'No enemies there,' he reported. The Strategos noted the gravity of his subordinate's tone. He knew from their long association that Demetrios was clearly disturbed by what he saw, even more so than he already was by the sights outside.

'We...' Demetrios began, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. 'We need to call for daipotatoi, translators, and equipment to break quite a number of chains, my lord,' he said.

Stephanos nodded and motioned for Petros to ride up beside him and take orders.

'You found survivors?' Stephanos asked.

Demetrios nodded once.

'If you can call them that,' he said, gazing back at the building's opened black doorway before turning back to Stephanos. His face was hidden by his helm's double-layered mail aventail, but Stephanos could tell by his tone that Demetrios was grinding his jaw in anger. '_Victims _is a better word I'd use for them.'

* * *

Stephanos and Alexios watched from the head of one of the city's squares as the Roman soldiers guided the survivors of the city. They were sat in the middle of the square to receive food, water, and whatever could be found to cover them. The tagma's team of physicians and daipotatoi roamed around the square, giving aid to the survivors who needed it most, binding up wounds or proscribing drugs to ease pain. Dozens of the survivors were led – or carried in some of the more serious cases – in a single file to one corner of the square, where the surgeons' tent was set up. Such was the number of survivors that Father Makarios, Father Christodoulos, their deacons and readers, and even those doctors who specialised in the care of the tagma's horses and the grooms had to give what help they could.

Roughly three hours had passed since Demetrios discovered the first survivors of Feoh. After that first discovery, Stephanos realised that the Black Dogs had indeed run away; he knew they would not simply abandon their prizes to be recovered, given what he has heard of them. With that in mind, the Strategos ordered Demetrios to lead the koursores, the skoutatoi, much of the toxotai, the akritai, most of the Varangians, and even his own kataphraktoi to ride out to the city's centre to link up with the forces occupying it while he led the rest of the tagma to search for survivors.

The survivors – _victims _of the assault on the city, as Demetrios rightly pointed out – were truly a sorry sight. The men, who were apparently locked inside what cellars the Black Dogs can find to be transported north for forced labour, all looked starved and haggard after about two days of imprisonment in utter darkness. Many of them still had their hands bound by the Black Dogs' manacles, and as they sat on the ground of the square, their eyes flitted to and fro, as if they were constantly on the look-out for danger. Some kept their eyes on the ground. A number of the men had nothing to treat their wounds with but crudely-applied bandages they made by tearing what rags they were wearing. Many did not even have that, leaving their wounds to fester and become horribly gangrenous, further spreading the matter of death into their already weakened bodies. Stephanos earlier led one expedition that found survivors in such a state: a dozen men huddled to one corner of a cellar with the corpses of those who died earlier scattered all across the room.

Almost a hundred of the men would not last the day despite the best efforts of the Roman surgeons. A larger portion of them would survive, but only after the amputation of one or two limbs.

Stephanos turned his gaze towards the entry of the square it its southern corner and saw a group of kontaratoi and an English Varangian guiding a group of women to the centre.

If the men were thrown to dark cellars to be neglected, the women gained all of the Black Dogs' attention. That was an altogether different kind of torment in itself.

Most of the survivors of the Romans managed to rescue were women, mostly rescued in large groups chained to walls in some of the larger, less-damanged buildings. All of them, without exception, were stripped naked and left utterly vulnerable to the appetites of their captors. Signs of their violation were evident to the soldiers that went to their rescue, from blood flowing down the legs of a large number of them to dried-up and drying traces of other, less wholesome fluids upon their skin.

Stephanos's heart broke as he watched the group of women shuffle slowly to the centre of the square like prisoners being led to the Tower of Anemas. That they walked alongside armed soldiers – never mind the fact that the soldiers were guiding them or providing support to those who could no longer walk straight – did nothing to shake that image from his mind. Many of them looked down or kept looking forward with blank-eyed expressions, as if they were too exhausted by their ordeals to react in any way. He saw tears silently flowing down the eyes of other women, who seemed not to even be aware they were weeping.

'This newest batch brings our tally to almost 900 survivors, my lord,' Alexios said at Stephanos's right. His words were delivered flatly, seemingly without emotion, but the Strategos knew from long association that focussing on his duties is how his Master of Camp dealt with agitation. He appreciated that, in fact, for it also allowed him to maintain some semblance of good judgement in trying times. 'About five-eighths of them are women.'

Stephanos gulped and took a deep breath as he once more assumed the guise of the army commander. 'And we've only just searched a few dozen buildings,' he mused. He turned to Alexios. 'Will we be able to adequately feed such a significant number of additional mouths?'

'The condition of our supplies is actually one of the more positive aspects of this situation,' Alexios replied. 'In their haste to escape us, those Black Dogs left most of the food and supplies they brought or stole from the city in a number of warehouses near the city's centre. Our tallies are far from completion, but I believe we will have no problems with supplies for the next month, even with added mouths to feed.'

Stephanos nodded.

'We also able to send food back to the soldiers and servants who remain in camp with the cattle,' Alexios continued. 'I can arrange for some mules to go as soon as you allow it.'

Stephanos shook his head.

'It will be better in terms of logistics to simply send them all here with us for the moment,' he said. 'And we can use some of the cattle to help feed these survivors. Send a messenger back to camp with orders to follow us here.'

'Yes, sir,' Alexios replied. The Strategos and Master of Camp then turned silent as they observed some soldiers brought in a dozen more liberated women into the square.

'By all the saints,' Alexios said. His face was still concealed by his helm's two-layered mail aventail, but the tone of his voice expressed his shock. 'Even the children.'

Stephanos looked at the approximate direction Alexios was focussed at and saw a young blonde girl – likely no older than fourteen – walking with unsteady steps as she leaned on a kontaratos for support. Unlike many of her fellow victims, she was openly weeping, and drying blood flowed down her legs.

'I do not know what these Black Dogs are, but they are not human,' Stephanos said through gritted teeth, just loud enough for Alexios to hear. 'If our soldiers still had any doubts about their evil before, let them all see what we have found here.'

The sound of a set of hooves upon cobblestone interrupted whatever reply Alexios may have thought of, and he and Stephanos – along with the other Romans in the square – turned their full attention to the source of the sound. Hands unconsciously tightened their grips on weapons, and the kontaratoi gathered into hasty formations, ready to repel this potential foe. They relaxed when they saw that the approaching horseman carried a Roman banner.

It was, in fact, a banner Stephanos recognised well: a blue square bordered with black, with a hollow white circle in the centre. Three triangular tails of alternating blue and red flowed from one end of the square. It was the banner of Markos's bandon.

True enough, the koursor that rode up to the kataphraktoi was a Serb, and one Stephanos also knew. Young Teodor rode up to where Stephanos and Alexios were, stopping his horse in front of theirs.

'The Topoteretes sends me to report to you, Strategos,' the koursor said. 'We have successfully secured the castle in the centre of the city and the districts that surround it.'

Stephanos nodded. 'Did you face much resistance?' he asked.

'For our allagion's part, very little,' Teodor said as he shook his head. 'The enemies were more interested in running away than facing us. Lord Demetrios wishes me to tell you that the Latinikon have had to deal with about two dozen enemies who had barricaded themselves in one the larger manor-houses that surrounded the castle. They have secured a number of prisoners the Topoteretes has reason to believe are turncoats or enemy ringleaders. Allagator Kamateros also informs me that we have suffered minimal casualties in the ride, none killed, only a few light wounds.'

'I see,' Stephanos said. He inwardly whispered a prayer of thanks for Markos's safety. 'My commendations to Allagator Kamateros.'

'I shall deliver them, my lord,' Teodor continued. 'And the Topoteretes also wishes to inform you of an issue raised by the Allagator that may require your attention.'

Stephanos's eyes narrowed in thought. He knew that Demetrios was a thorough man, one who can be trusted to take care of most issues within his scope of authority himself. 'Is there some sort of problem?' he asked.

'I don't know if you can call it that,' the koursor admitted. 'But Komes Markos and our bandon found survivors among the native defenders.'

* * *

Alicia stood at the head of the First Fortress's great hall, staring at the great tapestry behind her parents' thrones. It was an image of the Goddess crowning King Eos I of House Arcturus, first of the Shields of Feoh.

The great hall of the First Fortress is one of the largest of its kind in the Alliance, measuring more than 150 feet long, 50 feet wide, and 80 high. It was able to host up to 300 people: all of the First Company of the Holy Iris Order alongside another of the more junior companies. It was well lit in the day with stained-glass windows placed along the upper galleries of its long walls and at night with numerous candle stands and ornate chandeliers that hung from its high vaulted ceiling. Beneath the windows on either side of the hall and behind the thrones at the side furthest from the main door were tapestries showing the proudest moments of the history of Feoh, each episode on the long walls separated by marble caryatids of nymphs and elves. This hall, above all the other parts of the First Fortress, gave Alicia pride and comfort in the idea that through the ages, amidst any hardship, Feoh will endure.

This time, however, all of that splendour seemed to do nothing but convict Alicia of her failures.

Instead of its usual splendour, the great hall was reduced to an empty shell. The remnants of its time as a makeshift shelter and surgeon's quarters still littered its floors. One of the hall's original tables was placed in the middle of the room amidst the detritus, and the knights of the Holy Iris Order sat and ate their first unhurried meal since the beginning of the battle. The knights were silent even when Alicia still sat with them, possibly contemplating the sisters they had lost.

_So this is what has become of the__ Holy Iris Order_, Alicia thought. She turned her glance to them. _From eleven hundred, t__wenty-four __unharmed knights_. Their surviving yet wounded sisters, sixty-two in all, had been taken elsewhere by the victors of the Battle of Feoh, ostensibly for treatment.

Alicia's thoughts then turned to those victorious warriors that now held the fate of her city.

They called themselves the _Rhomaioi_. They wore coats of metal and had horsemen that could shoot bows from horseback, and they spoke a strangely-accented version of the language of the elves, peppered with strange, foreign words she did not recognise. The commander of this contingent, who called himself Kamateros and had a rank Alicia did not recognise, claimed they were on a divinely-ordained mission to free Eostia from the Black Dogs and their demon allies. Upon entering the First Fortress, they went to the refugee camps and announced the liberation of the city. They then went to work immediately, settling people in the portions of the inner districts they secured as others continued putting down those Black Dogs who had failed to escape.

For all intents and purposes, the _Rhomaioi _were liberators and heroes. _Or deceivers of the most masterful sort._

Alicia felt a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump back, turn, and draw her sword in a single motion. She only stopped when she saw that the person who tapped her shoulder was Ophelia, who stepped back in wide-eyed shock and crossed her forearms in front of her in defence.

'I'm sorry, Ophelia,' she said, sheathing her sword again. 'I was… I was lost in thought.'

'I- I don't blame you, your highness,' the knight replied, trying to regain composure. 'After all that happened to us…'

'There might be more, I'm afraid,' Alicia said, shaking her head. 'Tell me, how long has it been since the _Rhomaioi _left us here?'

'About an hour and a half, your highness,' Ophelia answered.

'An hour and a half,' Alicia echoed. 'Before they left us, their commander Kamateros asked us to remain here and not leave. We were all informed the door will be locked and guarded, ostensibly for our own protection. What does that sound like to you?'

'Like… we're being held captive?' Ophelia said, uncertainty evident in her tone.

Alicia grimly nodded in response.

'They didn't take our weapons…' Ophelia began, her delivery slow.

'Perhaps this is an attempt to ensure we do not see through their deception,' Alicia explained. 'And our swords are next to useless against thick ironwood doors anyway.'

'What reason could they have to imprison us?' Ophelia asked.

'I don't know,' Alicia admitted, shaking her head. She cast Ophelia a meaningful glance. 'But I have recently learned not to trust the intentions of…' she paused and sighed. '_Others_.'

'I believe this situation is different from that of the Black Dogs, your highness,' Ophelia tried pointing out. 'The Black Dogs held hostages and had a reason to force you to surrender. What could these _Rhomaioi _possibly gain from imprisoning us?'

'Perhaps they want to conquer the city for themselves,' Alicia said. 'Feoh is too great a prize to pass up based on location alone, even in the state it currently is.'

'If they are after the city, then they already have it,' Ophelia explained. 'You saw how the people cheered their presence after their victory.'

'And my willingness to surrender undoubtedly marred what reputation we had with the citizens,' Alicia ground out through gritted teeth, avoiding Ophelia's gaze.

The knight once again grew concerned for her princess. 'No, your highness, that's not what I-' she babbled, the thoughts not truly forming in her head.

'I know, Ophelia,' Alicia said with a sad smile. 'I am well aware you did not imply such a thing.' She then looked around the great hall, especially the doors on the left side and the far end. 'But there is something we do not understand here.'

Alicia then gestured Ophelia to walk with her to the far end of the hall, to the great double doors that led to the Fortress's inner court. The other knights, seeing their princess and sister walking to the door, left their sombre meal to join the pair.

'Locked,' Alicia remarked as she tried to push the door open. 'As expected.' She then turned to the rest of her knights. 'Check the other doors,' she ordered.

The knights complied immediately, going to the doors on the left side of the hall as Alicia walked to the far end to check the hidden door to a winding hallway and staircases to her apartments in the keep. It was also locked, much to the princess's surprise. Shortly afterwards, the knights also reported that all but two of the hall's doors – the one leading to the pantry and larder and the one leading to the privy – were locked. They also found that the doors in those rooms that led deeper within the Fortress were locked as well.

'So it is true, then,' Alicia said with a sigh. 'We really are prisoners.'

* * *

Markos walked alongside Gavrilo two steps behind Allagator Kamateros as they headed to meeting with Demetrios at the entrance of the First Fortress's inner court. They had sent a message regarding the securing of the Fortress and of surviving native defenders after they had wiped out all the Black Dogs who failed to escape and directed the re-housing of the citizenry inside the castle to the reinforcing infantry.

The Romans were walking along a long hallway from the keep to the inner court, the steps of their cavalrymen's boots echoing across the now-empty hall as they trod the cold stone floors. About two hours ago, this same hall was one of those that saw a rush of a few hundred of the city's commoners, who ran out of the keep in shocked euphoria as they were told the Black Dogs had been driven off the city. Markos, having been one of the koursores tasked with guiding the crowd out, smiled at the memory. The foreign words some citizens who approached him as he directed the flow of the crowd were especially fond for him. Exactly what they said was, of course, lost on the Komes, but their smiles, whether tearful or ecstatic, told him everything he needed to know.

The long stone corridor the Romans marched upon was one that led from the barracks that occupied much of the keep's ground floor to the gatehouse and also provided access to the curtain wall that it ran along. As he examined it for any possible hiding-places for enemies, Markos saw that it was well-lit, with numerous open arched windows lining its left side. A tall candlestick that can carry four candles stood between each window, which explained how the hallway was lit at night or when the windows had to be closed.

The right side of the hallway featured tapestries divided by flower-topped stone columns. The tapestries featured episodes of battles against demonkind, with blonde, knife-eared creatures and Feoh's iris sigil featuring prominently alongside the depictions of swordsmen, swordswomen, and dead demons. Markos took special note of the arms and armour of the natives. He saw depictions of men clad in material that is difficult to tell based on the depiction alone and of women clad in that same seemingly nonsensical 'armour' the Iris Knights they encountered were clad in: plated forearm and shin guards whose construction seemed to exceed techniques known to the Romans, large, blocky shoulder armour and metal collars meant to protect the neck, two metal half-rings that held up the breasts and failed to cover most of them, and a scandalously small piece of cloth as a sorry attempt to have something to protect the nether regions. _Just what led to the development of that armour_? Markos thought to himself. _It certainly __isn't a desire to __deflect blows, that's for sure_. _Perhaps this world's climate has something to do with their design_?

'I don't understand,' Markos whispered.

'What don't you understand, Kalomeros?' Kamateros asked. The young Komes smarted as if from a slap and turned to his commander. _I thought I didn't say that out loud,_ he thought.

'These Eostian knights' choice of…' Markos hesitated, not sure if the term he thought is proper for what he meant. 'Their choice of attire, sir,' he finally decided. He looked to Gavrilo at his left and saw that he was trying his hardest not to laugh, though his expression seemed not to outwardly betray it. Had he not known his kinsman since they were children, he would have thought he remained aloof.

'Yes, I also don't understand,' Kamateros admitted. 'It's as if they despise the concept of protection in battle or something.'

'And it only seems to be the women who are so lightly armoured,' Markos said, looking at one of the larger tapestries they were passing through, which showed male soldiers led by a crowned figure engaged in combat against creatures that looked like the big demons they faced in the battle earlier. Another one of the white-clad knife-eared women was also depicted, apparently floating at the right of the king. 'The men seem to be more sensibly clad, even if they seem to think leather vests are good armour.'

'If I may, sir,' Gavrilo said.

'Go ahead, Vukovic,' Kamateros replied.

'Perhaps their choice of attire is cultural?' Gavrilo suggested. 'It is suggested that some Celtic tribes went to battle naked to show their own fearlesness and to instil a sense of dread in their enemies.'

_The same Celtic tribes who were crushed by the armoured legionaries of the Roman Republic two centuries before the birth of Christ_, Markos thought.

'Perhaps,' Kamateros said with a shrug. 'Though this very castle suggests these people are at least more advanced than the barbarian Celts of that period. Perhaps some of those Iris Knights can elucidate some points of their culture later.'

_The Iris Knights_, Markos thought. The image of Feoh's princess once again flashed in his mind, though he pushed it out immediately and focussed on the present once more.

'They may not be so forthcoming with that knowledge, sir,' he said with a shake of his head.

Kamateros nodded but did not reply. All three of the men continued their march in silence, avoiding the all-too-uncomfortable topic of the imprisonment of the uninjured Iris Knights. Markos knew that none of them were proud of what they did, but he understood that necessity and their own consciences dictated such a drastic measure.

To their surprise, when the three reached the gatehouse that led from the outer court to the inner court, they were met not by Demetrios, but by an honour guard of fully-clad kataphraktoi. The standard-bearer Sgouros headed this honour-guard, and at its centre was Stephanos himself, clad in full panoply, riding alongside a Varangian and a young servant, most likely a messenger. The koursor Teodor, who was earlier sent to relay a message to Demetrios, rode alongside the Strategos. _Uncle Demetrios likely sent a report on the issue to Father as soon as he heard it,_ Markos thought.

Kamateros, Markos, and Gavrilo stood at attention and bowed their heads as the kataphraktoi and single koursor approached. Stephanos, and his honour guard dismounted from their horses, and a pair of koursores approached to lead them and Teodor to the castle's stables. The now-dismounted kataphraktoi of Stephanos's honour guard then formed up in two rows behind Stephanos with well-drilled discipline, shields up and lances raised as if in a review. The Varangian and the messenger stood on either side of the Strategos.

'Gentlemen,' Stephanos said with a nod of acknowledgement, and the three koursores went at ease.

'Strategos,' Kamateros replied. 'We have not expected you to arrive so soon.'

'I arrived as soon as I heard your report on surviving native defenders, Allagator,' the Strategos replied. 'Topoteretes Mourtzouphlos is currently dealing with the issue of housing the prisoners.'

Markos and Gavrilo exchanged worried glances, with the Komes secretly hoping his father did not notice. Much to his relief, Kamateros seemed to have retained his composure.

'Of course, you would wish to see the natives as soon as possible,' the Allagator said.

Markos kept what he hoped was a carefully-crafted expressionless appearance, but his heart was pounding within his ribcage. The Roman army had a well-crafted series of regulations thanks to its extremely long history, but the detention of the leader of a possible ally without orders for the sake of modesty is entirely new, at least to Markos. He had no idea if such an act, especially committed upon foreign royalty, falls under the authority of officers at the level of a Komes or even an Allagator. It might be fine, or it may count as him – since he partially suggested the detention by telling Kalomeros that the Iris Knights should be 'kept away' from the front lines for their own safety's sake and to preserve the dignity of the Roman army – completely overstepping his bounds.

In their attempt to at least try to make their decision seem official, Markos and Kamateros planned to first have Demetrios visit the wounded Iris Knights in their separate ward to see their lack of attire himself before explaining the situation. As second-in-command of the tagma, the Topoteretes likely has enough legal weight to put behind their unprecedented move. However, the presence of Stephanos – the highest arbiter of military law in the tagma, granted authority by the Emperor himself – was a complication. He may immediately see this detention's possible consequences on the Romans' diplomatic relations with potential allies, which may mean punishment. True, death was only meted out to Roman soldiers in cases of desertion, treason or other such extreme crimes, but Roman military law has other punishments. And while Markos was Stephanos's son, the Strategos was well-known never to play favourites.

'Indeed,' Stephanos said after what seemed to Markos like an abnormally long moment. 'It may serve our cause well if I were to speak with their leader.'

_Here it is_, Markos thought. At this point, he and Kamateros originally planned to steer the conversation towards visiting the wounded first. _But Father is more direct in the execution of his duties than Uncle Demetrios. And he does not look kindly upon delays that can affect the entire army._

He then took a deep breath and glanced at Gavrilo, who looked at him questioningly. _A direct approach is more needed here_, he thought. _Father is a __sensible__ man__. He will understand._

Markos then took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and pre-empted his commander's next words. 'I beg your pardon, Fa- Strategos,' he said, working hard to school his expression. He felt rather than saw Kamateros and Gavrilo look at him questioningly. 'I have something to admit regarding the Iris Knights.'

* * *

An uncomfortably long time passed in the great hall, with the shadows growing long outside. The earlier atmosphere of silent contemplation of the battle the Iris Knights survived was changed into one of tension, of impending action. The knights, previously languid in their rest, stood in the centre of the room in a circular formation, swords and shields at the ready. Their captors will learn of the defiance of the Iris Knights, wherever in the room they may deign to come from.

Alicia heard a faint sound from the other side of the main doors. She raised her sword and signalled her knights to move. They separated into two roughly equal groups, each one in the space beside the doors. The princess, however, remained at the centre of the room, sword and shield in hand.

The knights heard a slight creaking as the _Rhomaioi _pulled the doors open. The doors moved slowly, heavy as they were, but the two men pulling them made good progress.

_A little more, _Alicia thought. _Wait until the doors are half-opened._

The beating of Alicia's heart reached fever pitch, and part of her was afraid it might burst out of her chest. She bit her lower lip in anticipation and tightened her grip on her sword's hilt, so much so that her knuckles turned white.

The door reached halfway point. Alicia saw the _Rhomaioi_, and they, in turn, saw her. She narrowed her eyes. _It's time_, she thought.

'Now, sisters!' the princess shouted as she ran forward. 'Charge!'

As one, all the Iris Knights ran to the half-open doors, shouting their battle cries to the Goddess all the while. Knightly sword met with reverse teardrop-shaped shield, but the _Rhomaioi _– formed up in two rows seven men wide –stood fast.

Fighting at the front rank, Alicia saw that these were different _Rhomaioi _compared to the ones she saw previously. They wore conical yet rounded metal helms with chained skirts that concealed their faces and had bright red coats, which seemed to be made of cloth instead of metal. _All the better_, she thought, bringing her sword down on the shoulder of one such warrior.

The sword made a small cut on the coat, but it otherwise slid harmlessly off. The princess saw that the warrior had another metal coat under his cloth one.

The attacks of the other Iris Knights who were also attacking the _Rhomaioi _had similar success. If their swords were not deflected by shields, they were met with sturdy, unyielding metal coats. Many of their strikes even slid off whatever material their enemies' coats were wearing. And to add insult to injury, the _Rhomaioi _did not even draw their weapons and were only blocking blows with their shields.

After a few minutes of useless flailing and shouting on the part of the Iris Knights and seemingly mocking inaction by the _Rhomaioi_, Alicia finally stepped back and raised her sword to signal her knights.

'Cease fighting, sisters,' she managed to grind out, a grimace on her face. She knew that her face was red from humiliation. 'We… we're not doing anything.'

The Iris Knights reluctantly disengaged and stepped back. The _Rhomaioi _entered the room with well-drilled efficiency, forming a shield wall seven men wide and two deep, though they kept the points of their lances upward. One of the men also carried a richly-appointed banner of red and gold, the central device of which featured a red field bisected into four by two perpendicular golden bars and featuring what seemed to be stylised runic characters. The knights also formed a shield wall to oppose them, their own swords at the ready. The air was tense for a moment, and it seemed that fighting would renew once more.

However, the formation of the _Rhomaioi _opened up, and two men stepped out: another one of the tall, bearded axe-bearers and a soldier dressed similarly to the ones the knights failed to strike at, save for a much more ornate helm and a white sash lined with gold patterning around his waist.

'_Be at peace_,' the man said, again speaking in the language of the elves. '_We mean you no harm_.'

The axe-wielder stepped up beside the man, possibly to prepare to translate.

'_Fine words for the men who locked us up here_,' Alicia replied in the elven tongue as she similarly broke ranks and went forward for talks. She inwardly smiled. _That will put them off-balance_, she thought. She saw other _Rhomaioi _step forward, including Kamateros and the first of the _Rhomaioi _whom she first met, the noble-looking green-eyed one. _Markos_, she remembered his name was.

'_Ah, so thou canst speak the language of the _Hellenes,' the man said in a manner that showed Alicia that he did not seem to be put off-balance. '_This is good_.'

Kamateros decided to step in and explain himself at this point. '_I assure thee, _despotissa_, such was not our intent_,' he said as the first man removed his helm, likely as a sign of trust. '_Our thoughts were primarily for thy safety and that of thy _oikeioi.'

As she considered those words, Alicia saw that the now un-helmed man's features were quite similar to that of an older Markos, though there were still significant differences. _Father and son?_ the princess thought. She then forced her mind back to the conversation at hand.

'_And what, sir, may so threaten us that we would need to be locked away for our own protection_?' Alicia asked.

'_Our soldiers, who are foreign to this land and may mistake you for our foes_,' Kamateros explained. For some reason, Alicia had the impression that he was speaking to her as if he was speaking to a child, which put her even more on edge. '_Or perhaps a number of the Black Dogs, who are still at large in some districts of thy city. There are any number of threats to you, especially in such a vulnerable state_.'

_Vulnerable_, Alicia thought. _They're looking down on us_. But as she was about to object to Kamateros's words in the most violent manner possible, another, more treacherous thought hit her. _We lost the city. __Of course they would look down on us. _She lowered her head for a moment and began to turn her head towards her knights, intending to order them to stand down.

Some of the knights, however, were not as willing to stand down as she was.

'_What do you mean, "vulnerable"_?' shot came an accusation from the Iris Knights' shield wall. Alicia recognised Ophelia's voice right away. '_You dare mock the honour of the Holy Iris Order_?'

'_Such was not my subordinate's __meaning_,' the red-coated man said, his tone the very definition of calmness. '_We know that it is your raiment, not your __skill, that doth leave __you vulnerable_.'

_Raiment…_ Alicia thought. She looked at her gauntlets and considered them as her mind quietly ruminated the man's words. _The _Rhomaioi _were worried about us because of our armour…_?

'_And what of our armour_?' Ophelia snapped.

'_It is wholly insufficient_,' the man replied coolly. '_It leaveth much of the wearer exposed to the enemy and to the elements_.'

'_It enables us to be mobile_,' Ophelia said, her tone sounding more and more petulant and desperate to Alicia. She saw that most of her knights were glaring daggers at the _Rhomaioi_, but a few of them were also starting to look at their own armour, as if begrudgingly acknowledging the truth of the foreigner's words.

'_A man can only be so swift_,' the man said. '_Yet all the swiftness in the world counteth for naught, should he be struck and overcome_.'

Ophelia snarled and would have retorted further, but Alicia raised a hand to stop her.

'Enough, Ophelia,' she said, keeping her gaze on the _Rhomaioi_. 'It is clear they meant us no harm.' As she spoke, she heard the axe-wielder repeat her words to the first man in the elven language. _Rather heavily-armed for a translator_, she thought.

The princess then turned to her knights, who anxiously looked at her. _What are they thinking_, she thought. _Do they want to attack_? _To stand down_? She looked at the _Rhomaioi _again, whose impassive face-concealing metal veils and trained neutral expressions revealed nothing of their intentions. In fact, the veiled ones seemed less like men to her and more like iron-wrought golems built in the size of men. _If we do attack, will they show the same restraint they did earlier_? She made her decision after facing her knights once more.

'Stand down,' Alicia ordered. 'They mean us no harm.' She saw many of the knights sigh with relief as they sheathed their swords, though a few still seemed to need some more prodding from the others. All in all, though, discipline managed to overcome whatever hesitation the Iris Knights may have had, and they all stood down.

Alicia turned to the _Rhomaioi_. '_I apologise for this misunderstanding_,' she said. '_I am Alicia Arcturus, Princess of Feoh. I greet you in peace in the name of the Seven Shield Alliance and of Celestine Lucross, Goddess Reborn_.'

The first man gave a short bow. '_I am Stephanos Kalomeros, General of the _Rhomaioi, _governor of the _Theme of Chaldia_ and protector of _Trebizond_. I greet you in the same spirit, in the name of the _Basileia Rhomaion_, her Lord and Ruler Ioannes Komnenos,_ _and the One True God, who sent us to this land_.'

* * *

The fruitless confrontation between the Iris Knights and Stephanos's honour guard of dismounted kataphraktoi proved to be the very last act of the Battle of Feoh. The city suffered greatly under the three-day assault of the Black Dogs. Once a bustling metropolis of 60,000 souls, the Romans managed to save a mere 26,000, with a considerable number wounded or heavily scarred in spirit. The outer districts of the city were thoroughly ravaged, and the inner districts of faring little better. Many of the city's buildings lay in ruin, with the demons seemingly having taken especial pleasure in desecrating the places of worship and defacing devotional statues. Such acts of evil, lamentable as they were, would later work to the Romans' advantage, as they were given the chance to both heal the city and salve its soul.

Despite the bitterness of the victory, it was a victory still, and the Black Dogs were dealt a severe blow. The army of more than 20,000 they sent to Feoh, which was further augmented by traitors within the militia and nobility, was reduced to two-thirds of its number after the battle and lost even more to the desert of Garan thanks to the loss of their entire supply train. Less than 4,000 Black Dogs made it back to the Black Fortress, starving and desperate, to report to their self-proclaimed Mercenary King of the disaster at Feoh. Many of the treasonous nobles of Feoh, including the Prime Minister Beasley, failed to escape and were captured by the Romans, locked away in the same cellars the Black Dogs previously kept prisoners for transport. Their fate would be decided by Roman justice.

Still, the forces of the Sex Empire remained a formidable force in the north and could still strike at the Seven Shields at their leisure, even if they had little appetite to head to Feoh in their current state.

Despite the inaction and fear that gripped the Seven Shields after the Black Dogs' declaration of war, news of the events of Feoh did reach the White Palace, though many of its details were lost in the telling and had to be filled in with guesswork and supposition.

* * *

'A-and t-t-that's what happened, Boss,' Gart said, again lowering his head to the cold black stone of the Black Fortress's throne room once more. 'We- we didn't stand a chance. The fire… the metal men… we couldn't do anything.'

Vault, who was up to that point enjoying the fruits of his conquest, frowned and seethed at his throne. He kicked off the former Dark Queen from her ministrations, tied up his trousers, and walked right up to where Gart was. The Black Dog captain looked up at him. From his humiliated position on the floor, the Mercenary King looked massive, more ogre than man, and the shadows cast by the flickering light of the torches gave him a very sinister mien.

'So,' Vault began, his voice echoing across the throne room like the rumbling of stones before a rockslide. 'Otho managed to fuck up my plans and lose a battle that's impossible to lose, and we just lost a huge chunk of our forces to boot.' He knelt down and looked at Gart face-to-face. 'How'd _you _get here, then?'

Gart whined and felt a chill run up his spine. He wanted to crawl back, but he couldn't. His legs weren't listening to him.

'I-I-I-I was,' he stammered, trying to think of a way out of this mess. He felt sweat begin to bead and flow from his brow. 'I saw that the battle getting hopeless. I l-l-l-led the retreat.'

Vault stood up. 'You hear that?' he said to everyone else in the room. 'He led the retreat!' He laughed, and his courtiers, men and demons both, laughed with him. Their savage, booming laughter resounded across the room like peals of thunder, and Gart cringed at the noise.

'Where's Otho now?' Vault asked after the laughter subsided. His tone was quite flat, which filled a pit of dread in Gart's stomach even more than any overt show of anger. At least if the Mercenary King did show anger, the captain would know what to expect.

Gart shook his head. 'I-I don't know,' he said. 'Last I s-s-s-saw him, he was shot by an arrow and one of those bastard horsemen got to him. I don't know if they kept him alive.'

'I hope they didn't,' Vault spat out. 'Bastard lost me an army. And as for _you_…'

Gart flinched again as Vault once more knelt to face him. However, instead of the impact of big-meaty fists on his face as he expected, he instead felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, puzzled.

'Congratulations on your promotion, General Gart,' Vault said with a grin.

Vault stood up again and addressed the rest of the Black Dogs in the throne room. 'General Gart!' he thundered.

'General Gart!' they all repeated.

For his part, Gart gawped at the Mercenary King like a beached fish for a few moments before regaining his senses. He looked around at the cheering crowd and realised this was no trick. He really was being promoted.

'G-General?' he asked, his tone a bit too high-pitched for his taste.

'Of course,' Vault said with a shrug of his shoulders. 'You were smart enough to cut your losses and run while Otho insisted on staying in Feoh to die against forces he didn't know. Now he's dead, and you're general. Continue being smart enough, and you'll continue being general. Fuck up my plans like Otho did, and you end up like he did.' He then turned to the rest of the Black Dogs. 'Simple, right?'

Another round of laughter echoed across the room.

'Now then,' Vault said with a grin as he returned to his throne. 'I've always accounted for _someone _to fuck up in Feoh, though I expected it to be Beasley.' The Dark Queen started to crawl back up to him, Gart noticed. 'This is a setback, but not a very big one.'

'I know exactly where we strike next.'

* * *

Celestine dreamed.

In her vision, she was standing in the middle of a beautiful meadow, lush with greenery and flowering plants of different kinds. She smelled the fragrance of the flowers, frolicked among the birds and creatures of the meadow that played under the bright sun, and all was good.

However, a hot, harsh wind suddenly blew from the north, and she smelled the horrid scents of burning wood and tar, intermingled with cooking flesh. It did not take her too much thought to figure out which kind of flesh that was, especially with the screams. A great darkness then started to spread out of the north, which turned the meadow into a blasted landscape of death. From the darkness leapt out great spectral beasts, their forms black voids in reality. The only lights that emanate from them are their glowing red eyes and their gleaming white fangs and claws.

The beasts mauled and killed all in their way, and the greenery became red with the blood of innocent creatures. Celestine found herself frozen in fear in the middle of the meadow, and the beasts all took notice of her. She felt dozens – hundreds – of crimson eyes stare right at her.

The beasts bayed and lunged.

At the last moment, a holy light appeared in the heavens. The light shone in the darkness and was not overcome. So overwhelming was the light that Celestine found herself on the ground, unable to look at it directly. She heard the beasts driven back with yelps and growls.

From the light emerged a mighty silvery army, horsemen and spearmen, archers and axe-men, and bearers of terrible fire magic. They charged at the beasts without fear, smiting them with fire and steel.

Celestine again tried to look skyward at the source of the light. She almost immediately turned away for fear of being struck blind, but for a brief moment, she thought she saw a sign, one that seemed to resemble two foreign runic characters merged into one.

And then, the words, unbidden, entered her mind.

_By this sign, they will conquer._

* * *

**So that's what happens when Byzantines see non-armour: they lock up wearers in what's basically prison. Maybe. I would have wanted to add more confrontation on that topic, but I decided to save that for Claudia. She's supposed to be the head of the Seven Shields' military, after all.**** Honestly, I think it slows the plot to a crawl, but I expect things to at least pick up a bit next time. Maybe.**

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: The Byzantines sort of have a city now. A very depleted city that's quite ruined, but it's a start. They may even have the chance to train more soldiers soon.**

**Ylnadiir: I think that switching viewpoints in battle also gives a more complete picture of the event. I actually had a few more viewpoints planned, but one of them involves archers in an endless cycle of 'nock, draw, loose' and the other is Markos waiting around for the signal to charge. I don't know why I didn't include the akritoi on the walls, though.**

**Perseus12: Here are the Black Dogs' and Celestine's reactions. Crucifixion isn't something the Byzantines do since Constantine the Great banned it. In fact, the Byzantines were mostly more merciful than the rest of their European counterparts in that they weren't as willing to execute people. I doubt the people that did get punished would think the same, though. I'm not sure the Byzantines would trust the Dark Elves that much, though. They were the ones who summoned the demons, after all.**

**Pockmark: 'They're dressed stupid, lock them up!'**

**Mad God 42: Orthodox hymns tend to be slow and peaceful and mystical, more suited for the halls of the church than the heat of battle. Crusader music will have to do. Or instrumental Byzantine battle music, if you can find some.**

**edboy4926, Monster King: Thank you.**

**Aznereth: 221 men for 26,000, seems like a fair trade. That is, if at least some of those 26,000 can be as good as the dead 221… **

**VGBlackwing: The Byzantine military was actually the best army of its kind during its heyday, thanks to superior organisation, equipment, and the invention of miraculous concepts like the field medic and the hospital. Things only fell apart because the empire couldn't make use of this superior organisation due to being increasingly short of men and cash, civil wars happening so often it's basically a national sport, and incompetent emperors who didn't care much for military affairs. That great big mess of 1204 didn't help either.**

**UN Peacekeeper: They will, though probably subtly and politely. They are from the 'byzantine' empire, after all.**

**FoulerGlint60: More to come as soon as it's done. **

**Pockmark: Thanks. I'm working on the very overdue next chapter of the _Warhammer _story next, and then this. Updates will be irregular due to work, life, and other things, though.**

**Blazblade: I agree, the Byzantines took that great Roman trait of adaptability (and making use of their enemies' good ideas) and put it to very good use. The Komnenian Restoration is especially remarkable since Alexios had to work with the useless tatters of an army his predecessors left him and ended up with something that could bring the fight back to the Turks in Anatolia. If only Ioannes didn't accidentally prick his hand with his own arrow. **

**If by 'military annex' you mean the Byzantine order of battle, then Stephanos's tagma has roughly 5,000 men divided into three taxiarchies of infantry (a taxiarchia is roughly 1,000 to 1,200 men), two allagia of koursores (an allagion is about 150 men), two allagia of hippo-toxotai, an allagion of kataphraktoi, and the rest are akritoi (skirmishers) artillerymen. Forces that are not technically part of the tagma but aren't fighting include the 150 Latinikon (Western knights and their assorted men-at-arms), 300 Varangians, and 200 troops from the Emperor's household, which include the fire-throwers (don't expect too much of them for a while since their supplies are pretty low at the moment). The Byzantines actually had 5,650 at the beginning, but earlier losses at Caesarea and now in Feoh mean that they are back to about 5,000 for real. The Byzantines liked arranging their forces into three: three banda make an allagion or a taxiarchia. I also didn't count the medics, surgeons, servants, drill sergeants, clergy, and other non-combatants of the army in that number because I still like having at least some sanity. Those numbers may not be historically accurate, by the way. If you're looking for historical accuracy, I think a good book to check out is Eric McGreer's _Sowing the Dragon's Teeth_, which is an English translation of the _Praecepta Militaria _and the _Taktika_. **

**And Beasley and the rest will be punished, don't worry about that, and it will be done in Byzantine terms. Expect 'forgiveness'.**

**And that is it for now. Up next-**

'**LORD OF THE EARTH. MONARCH OF THE SKY. RULER OF THE FOUR HORIZONS. MIGHTY LION OF THE INFINITE DESERT. GREAT HAWK OF THE HEAVENS. RADIANT SUN. KING OF THE SHIFTING SANDS. REIGNING TILL THE END OF TIME. ETERNAL SOVEREIGN-'**

**That guy.**


	8. Worrisome Developments

**Hello there. I'm back. ****I hope you're all doing well, despite this rather ****messy situation we ****all**** find ourselves in. ****And welcome to council meetings: the chapter. ****This may or may not be ****influenced by ****the sheer volume of meetings I had to attend ****in real life recently.**

**Anyway, ****for what it's worth, ****enjoy the meetings. ****I mean the chapter.**

* * *

Chapter VII  
Worrisome Developments

The night after the Battle of Feoh passed uneventfully, and when the sun rose the next day, it once again found the fortress-city of Feoh the free capital of a free kingdom.

As she did during that most dramatic turning point of the battle, Alicia stood atop the battlements the keep of the First Fortress. Again, thousands of pairs of eyes looked up at her. Again, she felt the crushing burden of responsibility in her heart.

But this time, she had no Iris Knights to stand beside her. This battle was hers alone.

_F__ather, Mother_, she thought as she tried to calm herself for the ordeal ahead. _I__s this the right thing to do_? She looked above at the sparsely-clouded morning sky, as if hoping for an answer. As she silently contemplated her choices, she unconsciously tightened her right hand's grip on the parchment scroll that held her newest decrees.

Alicia took a breath to try to still her increasingly agitated heart as she scanned the wide courtyard below her. A mere day ago, the same courtyard held a leering sea of Black Dogs slavering for the blood of the men and the bodies of the women that took refuge within the keep. The commander of the Black Dogs stepped forward directly in front of where she currently stood, and there taunted her and laughed even as he ordered the captured nuns to be brought forward. She noticed that she stood at the very same spot in the battlements where she surrendered the city to the man.

The princess shook her head, forcing her mind back to the present. _We were on the brink_, she thought, _yet here we are now_. She once again focussed on the sight before her.

In the place of lust-drunk Dogs and demons, Alicia saw a multitude of Feoh's citizens in the courtyard. It was a sad sight that greeted her. A large number of the men bore the wounds of battle and captivity, their scars and bloodied bindings testament to their suffering. In contrast, very few of the women showed open wounds. However, the princess knew that they experienced an altogether different kind of horror. A large number of them huddled close together, seemingly uncomfortable in such a large space. Some allowed their eyes to wander like animals on the lookout for danger. More heartbreakingly still, a few stood motionless and blank-faced, all but dead to the world. She saw them all look up at her.

_Your fault_, the people's gazes seemed to say. _This is__ fault. You let this happen to us._

Alicia felt her heart sink in her chest, and tears began to form in her eyes. She looked down and bit her lower lip, doing all she could not to openly weep.

_Not now, _she thought, _not __now. _Her gaze darted to the side, but she did not turn her head like she wanted.

_Not __i__n __front of _them_._

Three men stood behind her, watching the proceedings. One was a brown-haired man dressed in a long tunic and cloak lavishly designed with complex embroidery and a strange-looking conical brimmed hat, and wielding an iron-wrought sceptre or mace. To his right was a large, imposing man clad in the distinctive metal panoply of the foreign soldiers' elites and bearing a fearsome two-handed axe in one hand and a veiled metal helm in the other. She knew these men: Kalomeros, commander of the _Rhomaioi_, and the chief of his bodyguards, Olafsson, she remembered he was called.

The third of the _Rhomaioi _men, whom Alicia knew stood at Kalomeros's left, was a younger man clad in a metal coat and helm and armed with a sword and a lance. He was Markos, Kalomeros's son and a captain of his horsemen; he was also the one who suggested locking her up with the Iris Knights the day before. Alicia knew in her mind that he acted in good faith and with her benefit in mind, but her pride as both a princess and the leader of the Iris Knights meant that she could not help but feel insulted at that supposed belittling of her fighting prowess, along with that of her knights'. _Reasonable enough as it is._

_Can we truly trust them_?

Alicia's mind then wandered to the unpleasantness of the previous day, when she tried to attack the _Rhomaioi _even after they saved the city. She could not help but grimace at the memory, and her embarrassment only grew when she thought of the other unpleasantness that followed. The scroll that contained her proclamation suddenly felt much heavier than it had any right to be.

Her mind in turmoil, Alicia took a deep breath and looked down at the scroll. She clenched and unclenched her jaws unconsciously out of anxiety, and her trembling hand gripped the parchment all the more tightly. Her pride and every instinct she had as a princess, a Shield and a knight fought against this decision. Feoh was _her _city, capital of _her _kingdom, which her soldiers and her parents died for. It was the home of _her _people, who were her responsibility to defend.

She looked at the throng below yet again. Her eyes kept wandering across the sea of citizens until she saw a group of black-clad forms in one corner of the courtyard. They were the nuns of the Grand Priory, the same ones she failed to save. The gentle features of Prim, whose condition she did not know, flashed in her mind.

_I failed to defend __my city, _she thought_, but I _will _protect you__. __This is the only thing I can do now__._

After one last deep breath to still herself, the Princess of Feoh stepped forward, put a hand on the stone parapet, and raised her voice to address her people.

'Good people of Feoh,' she began, catching the attention of those people closest to her that still did not look at her. 'My brothers and sisters. Hear now the words of Princess Alicia of the House of Arcturus, descendant of Eos, Sovereign of Feoh and Duchess of the City, Fourth Shield of the Seven Shield Alliance.'

Alicia paused, both to consider what she would say next and for the sake of the Iris Knights positioned on the furthest corners of the square, who bore a scroll containing her words. She briefly raised her hand to signal the knights to begin reading for the sake of the people too far to hear her directly.

'Our fair city has endured the greatest act of betrayal of our age,' Alicia continued. 'The Black Dogs have made good on their heinous declaration of war and struck at us in their thousands, from without and within.' She grit her teeth in anger at the memory of the multiple betrayals that opened up her city, even from the people whom she trusted the most.

A heavy feeling assailed her spirit once more as even more memories of the battle came flooding in, and her heart felt as heavy as a millstone.

_Your fault._

'We…' she said, slowly and deliberately. 'We, your Iris Knights, were powerless to stand against them. We have failed you.' Tears started forming in her eyes again as she struggled to speak her next words, ones that she did not write in the scrolls the Iris Knights were reading at that moment. 'I have failed you. I know that my words can do nothing to ease your suffering, but…'

Alicia bowed her head, her breathing shallow and laboured. The tears began flowing freely, and she could do nothing to stop them. Her next words were little louder than a whisper.

'I am sorry.'

There was silence for a moment, replaced by the background murmurs of the people and the indistinct words of the proclamation, delivered from a distance by the Iris Knights the princess entrusted with her words. _I wonder what they think_, Alicia thought as she silently wept, her mind set on her people. _Do they hate me? __Have they __always hated me?_

'_She __offereth her apologies to her __people, my lord_,' a voice from behind the princess – Olafsson, she quickly realised – said behind her, speaking in a low voice in the language of the elves.

'_I see_,' another voice, Kalomeros, replied, similarly keeping his voice down.

'_A__nd so, a __ruler __boweth her head __to the __commonality __for wrongs she hath perceived in herself_,' Markos said. '_Surely, __this sight is a rare thing __in our lands_.'

Alicia silently gritted her teeth in frustration. _He mocks me_, she immediately thought, even if a small part of her mind reminded her that she did not clearly know the man's intent. Still, that flash of anger seemed to be what the princess needed to focus her back on her task. She wiped her tears, raised her head, and continued her address.

'Yet here we remain, free and unconquered,' she continued, her voice regaining strength as she pushed herself to her duties once more. 'The Black Dogs have been driven off and their treasonous collaborators awaiting judgement in our dungeons. The city is now safe.' She again paused, partly to catch her breath and partly due to a burst of cheers from her listeners, which drowned out her words.

When the people fell silent, the princess cleared her throat and continued.

'The salvation of our city is due in no small part to our new allies, the _Rhomaioi_, sent to us from a faraway land by the will of _Christos_, their God.' At the mention of the name of _Christos_, Alicia saw some soldiers of the _Rhomaioi_ mixed with her people in the crowd below doing that curious gesture of touching their foreheads, bellies and shoulders with the tips of their right forefingers, middle fingers and thumbs. She knows that the three _Rhomaioi _lords behind her may have also made that gesture themselves. Questions of what the gesture meant, why some of the _Rhomaioi _do it at some times and why others do not, and when it is supposed to be done float in Alicia's mind, but she brushed them aside as issues for later.

'The _Rhomaioi _marched with all haste from their camp deep in the forest to our West Gate, and they struck at the Black Dogs at the moment of their triumph,' Alicia explained. 'And so it was that a force of a mere four thousand defeated a host five times its size with minimal losses. It was a crushing victory, worthy of a place among the greatest in the annals of the Alliance.'

Another cheer rose up from the courtyard, and Alicia was content to allow her people their joy. As the people cheered, Alicia turned towards the three men behind her and nodded, which was the signal for them to come forward.

'And now, my people,' Alicia called out as the cheering was quieting down. 'It is with great joy and the highest honour that I present to you the commander of the _Rhomaioi_, his lordship the General Stephanos Kalomeros, saviour of Feoh!'

The people's applause grew louder when Kalomeros stepped up to Alicia's right to reveal himself, and the cheers intensified yet again when the general raised his mace in acknowledgement of his audience. Alicia rejoiced to see her people happy once more, but shame and regret pricked at her heart anew.

'_They love you, sir_,' she said in the elven tongue after Kalomeros put his hand down, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Kalomeros looked at her questioningly and seemed to discern her disquiet.

'Given the circumstances, that does not come as a surprise,' Olafsson remarked in Eostian, his flat, seemingly disinterested tone betraying nothing of the intent of his words. Alicia simply nodded in acknowledgement.

'_I believe __the __people's reception of the General __showeth __the people's high esteem__ towards their princess_,' Markos said, nodding at his own words. The princess shot him a questioning glance. That treacherous little part of her mind that admonished her for her earlier annoyance towards the man seemed to tell her that he may not have been trying to insult her after all.

'_I am in agreement with my son_,' Kalomeros followed up. '_In our homeland, people __show much mistrust of all strange foreigners__, especially in circumstances s__uch as this__. __Yet __thy people do welcome us wholly and without reserve,__with no guarantee but thy__ words __of assurance. __If such is not a show of trust, I know not what is._'

Alicia shook her head, a sad smile on her face. 'Or they simply hate the Black Dogs,' she said.

'_Thine estimation of thy people's love doth seem to me too low, _despotissa,' Markos remarked. '_Didst thou not __stand defiant for their sakes even as a __host __much greater than thine own __approached? Surely __thy people hath not such short memories as to forget that_.'

Alicia turned towards Markos again and realised what the captain was doing: he was trying to be truly accommodating towards her in an attempt to make up for what he did earlier. She simply faced his father again.

'They expect you to give a few words, General,' she said, pointedly not replying to Markos's words. Kalomeros briefly raised a curious eyebrow before nodding and turning towards the people again.

'_People of Feoh_,' Stephanos said, addressing the citizens. Olafsson also stepped up and translated his words. '_My brothers and sisters. You name me victor and saviour of __your fine city. __'Tis a grave error, __and one I shall correct. __In truth, I and my brethren __are naught but the __instruments of your __rescue. __We dare not take __the glory and honour that so rightly belong to God, __for His is __this victory, as __are all of our __shared victories to come!_'

There was silence among the people for a time, before the familiar words of the battle cry of the _Rhomaioi _from the mouth of one of the soldiers below broke the silence.

'_O Stavros__ nika!_'

Another great cheer rose from the people, though the words of the battle cry rose above the din.

'_O Stavros nika! O Stavros nika! O Stavros nika!_'

As the people cheered and applauded to the high heavens, Alicia realised how very little she knew of these strange foreigners. Even the words of their battle cry seemed strange to her. _Whatever does a pole have to do with victory_? She thought. Doubts and fears again began to assail her mind, but her people rejoicing alongside the _Rhomaioi _strengthened her resolve. She raised a hand to still the cheering crowd, unrolled her scroll, and read out her proclamation.

'Receive now the words of my decree!' She exclaimed as the cheering began to die down. 'I, Alicia of the House of Arcturus, by the authority granted unto me by Her Holiness Celestine Lucross, incarnation of the Goddess Larentia, and of my own royal house and birthright, do declare thus: the City of Feoh, though victorious against its foes, has suffered much at the hands of the traitors. Therefore, the taxes of all the loyal inhabitants of the City and its environs are waived for the remainder of the year and the whole year after it. All taxes of the same territory shall be reduced by half for the two years to follow, and reduced by a quarter for the two years after them. It also pleases the Crown to provide loans at reasonable interest to those guilds, tradesmen and farmers who have had their shops and produce destroyed by the Black Dogs, that they may rebuild their lives and return their trades to productivity.'

Alicia paused to catch her breath and gauge the people's reaction. She knew this decree seemed sound at the moment, but in truth, she was not truly certain of how it may affect the treasury. In fact, it was only at that point, when most of the nobles she relied on to govern her realm were either thrown to her dungeons for betrayal or murdered by their peers for their loyalty, that she realised how little she actually knew about ruling her kingdom.

A murmur of some nature or another rose among the people, but Alicia could not determine if they approved or not. Seeing no other choice and knowing she would look weak by rescinding a decree, especially after the other knights in the square had already possibly read it, she kept reading.

'Secondly,' she continued, 'the families of all the loyal soldiers of Feoh who were wounded or who fell in battle against the Black Dogs and the traitors, to the second degree of consanguinity and to the third generation, shall be permanently exempt from all forms of taxation.'

'Thirdly, all properties and chattels of those who have betrayed the kingdom in service of the Black Dogs shall be confiscated and placed upon the Royal Treasury to aid in the rebuilding of the City. All those who have sided with the Black Dogs who remain within the City's dungeons shall be granted the right to a trial by a court ran by the Holy Iris Order and headed by the Princess or a court of the _Rhomaioi _headed by General Kalomeros or whomever he chooses to appoint, whichever they choose. Those found guilty shall be granted appropriate punishments by the laws and customs of those they are tried under. Those found guilty by the Iris Knights' court shall face punishments of the highest penalties afforded to the commonality.'

There was silence among the crowd for a moment. Alicia knew that her people fully understood the import of this decree. That is, that all those found guilty by her court, be they noble of peasant, will face the same end: hanging outside the city walls in full view of those they have wronged. The 'hempen dance', as she heard some among the commoners call it. And with the priests of the Goddess all slain in the battle, they will have no recourse to a final blessing before death. She sighed, hoping that such a punishment can be enough to douse the desire for revenge among her people.

She continued speaking after a moment's pause. 'All men of rank found guilty by the courts will be stripped of their titles and have their noble houses abolished, their properties confiscated, all of their family registers put to the torch and the remaining members of their families banished to the wild lands of the east or the north.'

Another murmur arose among the people, and Alicia found her resolve shaken. _Were the punishments __enough_? She thought. _Was I too cruel? Too lenient? _She looked up to the sky. _Father, Mother…_ She then sighed and turned right to the _Rhomaioi _lords beside her. _I guess we shall see_.

Alicia again took a deep breath and spoke. 'Furthermore,' she said, 'as a show of the kingdom's gratitude towards their timely rescue, the _Rhomaioi _shall be given half of the traitors' confiscated chattels as plunder from the enemy as customs dictate. They are also invited to settle in Nostras District in the south-western part of the Outer City and to take ownership of those fields that fall within its borders. There, they shall be allowed to live under their own laws and to freely practise their faith. The Crown also consent to the construction of a church dedicated to _Christos_ within the borders of this new quarter of the _Rhomaioi_, with the necessary funds and labour provided by the Crown. All those natives of the City living within Nostras are permitted to either remain and live among the _Rhomaioi_ and be counted among their number or to move elsewhere, with the properties they have within Nostras compensated for by the Crown.'

Alicia looked at Kalomeros, who remained impassive. That part of the decree was one of the conditions they spoke of the day before. Giving away part of her capital city to foreigners was a sore point for the princess, but she knew it had to be done. _For the people, _she thought. _For Prim._

'Finally,' Alicia continued, 'the Crown requests General Kalomeros of the _Rhomaioi _to train the New Army of Feoh, created along the principles of their own army. Membership in this army shall be open to all able-bodied men of the kingdom aged 17 to 40 years who are of sound mind, spotless criminal record and upright moral character. In exchange, the Crown consents to allowing the _Rhomaioi _to replenish the ranks of their own army from the citizens of Feoh. All natives of Feoh who choose to join the _Rhomaioi _as recruits and who are accepted shall be counted as _Rhomaioi _themselves.'

As the people murmured among themselves, Alicia rolled up the scroll and observed.

'_They seem to have __taken thy decrees well_, despotissa,' Kalomeros remarked. '_I know not what they say, but there seemeth much excitement __amongst thy people_.'

'I can only hope so,' Alicia said with a thoughtful frown. After taking another moment to take her waterskin from her hip and take a small sip, she spoke the last words of her proclamation.

'Such are the words of Alicia Arcturus, Princess of Feoh, Duchess of the City and Fourth Shield of the Alliance, marked by the Great Seal of the Kingdom of Feoh and spoken under the authority of her Crown. Let none who are just and upright countermand them!'

_There_, Alicia thought at last as she rolled up her scroll, _it is done_. She dismissed the gathered people with a wave of her hand, and the citizens of Feoh all bowed before her before dispersing. The _Rhomaioi_, on the other hand, remained standing still before Kalomeros dismissed them as well. As the people began to file out of the courtyard, herded to the gates by the_ Rhomaioi_ like shepherds watching over their flocks, the princess faced the three lords beside her. They gave small bows, more out of courtesy than respect. She nodded in return before moving back to the castle, gesturing for them to follow.

_I have given you what you wanted, _Alicia thought. _Now I can only hope __that you prove yourselves more honourable than the Black Dogs._

* * *

_She hates me_, Markos thought with a sigh.

After Princess Alicia's address to her people, she and the three Roman officers with her immediately decided to go about their business for the day. For Markos, that meant going with his father to determine what was to be done to him for imprisoning the Iris Knights without orders. That thankless task was still some ways off, however. Thanks to the genius of the architect who designed the First Fortress, the princess and the Romans still had to navigate a long hallway to reach the parlours handed over to the Romans. This gave the young komes a few more moments to appreciate the sight of the princess, who marched well in front of the Roman trio, as if in a hurry to get the day over with.

The princess was beautiful, that Markos knew for a fact. While the rest of her Iris Knights were all charming in their own way, she was by far the fairest of them all. Before his eyes swayed her long, silky blond hair, left uncovered in barbarian fashion. Her hair was also mostly unadorned, save for a silver-coloured band that likely signified her rank, which lay above her forehead, and two silver circular ornaments beside it. She was, naturally, facing away from him, so he could not see noble yet delicate features of her face, including those regal purple eyes that drew him in so much.

Markos also remembered his relief he felt earlier that morning, when he saw that the princess, like her Iris Knights, had taken to wearing spare Roman kavadia: the blue of the koursores, in her case. Still, he admitted to himself that the princess's earlier attire gave her quite a few glances of her slim, well-proportioned body. Before he quickly quashed such thoughts, he wondered how she could have maintained her dainty feminine form despite apparently being a well-trained warrior in her own right.

_Such beauty_, he thought, _and she hates me. _He sighed and shook his head in despondence. _And not completely without justification._

The group reached a fork on the hall after a few minutes' march. The princess hurried on forward without a moment's pause. Markos, both lost in thought at how he can possibly get to her good graces and not overly familiar with the layout of the Fortress's top level, moved to follow her, but he was stopped by a hand on his right shoulder. The komes turned to see his father, his expression one of poorly-hidden amusement.

'It's this way, Komes,' he said, pointing to a door on the hallway to the right with his free hand.

'I- of course, Strategos,' Markos replied, following as his father led him towards the appointed room, chuckling quietly all the while. The Komes managed to steal one last glance at the princess, who neither acknowledged nor even noticed him.

_Truly, she hates me_, he thought glumly. Olafsson giving him a nod of acknowledgement before going off towards his own business gave him little comfort.

The room Stephanos led Markos to was a large, spacious room dominated by a long rectangular table made of dark wood furnished with high-backed seats, each one emblazoned with a symbol that likely showed the rank or identity of whoever sat there. The side of the room opposite the door were a number of narrow, round-topped windows that flooded the room with light while the wall where the door stood contained framed tapestries covered with black cloth. The end of the room furthest from the door, the one where the seat of honour was, had a large shield also covered by black cloth above some shelves that contained books and a large rolled-up parchment. The end of the room opposite it contained shelves of books or records, along with a small, dark-coloured door between the shelves. Markos also saw that Spyros, a servant from their household close to him in age, already stood in wait near the head of the table.

'This was apparently the room where the First Minister of the kingdom met with the lesser officials of state,' Stephanos said when he saw Markos's eyes wandering. 'This said First Minister is also apparently chief among the conspirators who wanted to hand the kingdom over to the Black Dogs.'

Stephanos moved towards the seat at the right hand of the head of the table, which Spyros immediately pulled back. Markos thought it interesting that his father did not go for the seat of honour as his rank entailed. _Will he meet with someone of higher rank soon? _He thought.

'Those are apparently depictions of his ancestors,' Stephanos said as he sat down, pointing at the covered tapestries with his thumb without looking at them. He then pointed to the covered shield. 'That is his house's coat-of-arms, not unlike the ones the Latins have.'

'I see,' Markos remarked, still looking around the room as he approached his father. 'It does not seem like the kingdom spared any expense for him. Why would this minister think of treason?'

Stephanos shrugged.

'Lust. Greed. Envy. Who knows?' he said. 'Perhaps I will have the chance to ask him in the dungeons.'

Markos nodded once as he stood next to the seat opposite Stephanos.

'But of course,' Stephanos continued. He sat straighter in his seat, placed his elbows upon the table and tented his hands before his face. Gone was Stephanos Kalomeros, the amiable father. In his place was Stephanos Kalomeros, Strategos of the Army, appointed governor of Trebizond. 'We are not here to discuss the crimes of some barbarian official, aren't we, Komes Kalomeros?' he asked.

Markos nodded again. 'Of course, Strategos,' he answered.

'You accuse yourself of causing a possible diplomatic incident by influencing your commanding officer's decision to imprison the barbarian Princess Alicia Arcturus and her household troops,' the Strategos said, his tone flat and formal. 'Allagator Kamateros tried to take responsibility for the action, but you yourself confessed to being the instigator and sole bearer of guilt, in any case.'

'Yes, sir,' Markos replied.

'I have consulted this case with the laws and customs of the Roman Army, as well as with your commander and the others of the tagma,' Stephanos continued. 'The military laws are, as can be expected, silent on the issue of incarcerating allies based on their attire. However, the commanders are largely supportive of your reasoning. Indeed, it was important in this case to ensure that possible allied units are protected, especially in such vulnerable states as we have found them. And it was equally important to uphold the honour of the Roman Army and keep it free of pure mind and conscience, even in the stresses of battle. In these points, the commanders agree with me: you are cleared of wrongdoing.'

With a simple relaxation of posture and a change in facial expression to a more laid-back smile, Stephanos abandoned the guise of Strategos and was simply Markos's father once more.

'Thank you, Strategos,' Markos said. 'But I can't help but think that a _however_ is imminent here.'

Stephanos's smile widened.

'_However_,' he said as Markos sighed. 'Since people you advised to be thrown into prison _were_ a foreign princess and her bodyguards, the issue of politics _must _be addressed, especially if we wish to ally ourselves with these people.'

'I am to be punished, then?' Markos asked.

'Yes,' Stephanos replied with a nod. 'With this formal reprimand: That was bad. Do not do that again without first sending a messenger to report to me.'

Markos chuckled. 'I acknowledge my error and will be certain to correct it,' he said.

'I am sure you will,' Stephanos replied with a nod. 'So I am confident that I can now give you your new temporary posting.'

Markos raised a curious eyebrow but remained silent. He had not heard anything about a new posting.

'Tell me,' Stephanos said. 'What do you think of the barbarian princess?'

_What?_ Markos thought, preventing himself from speaking out loud just in time. He pushed his willpower to prevent himself from flinching as he rapidly tapped his fingers on his side in thought. He also saw that his father had that look on his face, one that he only saw once in his life before, when he met the daughter of the Georgian envoy: the mischievous, slightly amused look of a man who noticed that his son has reached the age when boys start to appreciate the beauty of women.

'Well, I…' Markos began, thinking of a way not to make a fool of himself. 'I think- I think the princess seems _troubled_, father,' he said.

Stephanos's eyes squinted in thought, perhaps not expecting such an answer. _Or perhaps that was exactly the answer he was looking for_, Markos thought.

'Troubled?' the Strategos asked. How so?'

'I base that thought on this morning's address,' Markos explained. 'The princess effectively dented her treasury for the year and at least the five others to come, yet she promised funds for various things, for loans and the building of a church and the raising of a new army and such. She may not even know how much raising an army may cost. I believe she worries much for her people, but she does not actually know how she can help them.'

Stephanos nodded, conceding the point. 'Perceptive,' he said, sounding as if he entertained those same thoughts in his mind. 'Perceptive indeed. And this shows that you have actually think about the princess's station instead of just seeing her as a pretty face.'

Markos let out a nervous laugh as he tried to look away from his father. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Spyros desperately trying to hide his own laughter.

'So you noticed,' he said.

'Of course I did,' Stephanos answered. 'You may not believe this, but I _was _also twenty-one years old once.'

Father and son shared a brief moment of laughter together before Stephanos cleared his throat and issued orders once more.

'Your new posting has much to do with the princess,' he said as Markos stood at attention. 'She currently commands 86 female swordsmen, 24 of whom remain unharmed while 33 more are lightly wounded. Such numbers already count as a cavalry bandon, with a few more besides.'

'Indeed,' Markos replied with a slow nod, his mind slowly forming some idea of what his father was about to say.

'As part of my agreement with the princess, we are to train a new army for her: a new Roman army, in fact,' Stephanos continued. 'To that end, I will send a staff of kampidoktores and their auxiliary servants to train the princess's warriors into proper koursores.'

He gestured at Markos with one hand.

'I am attaching you to the princess's first bandon so you can assess how well they perform. While the kampidoktores provide the drills and exercises to instil discipline among the soldiery, you will train the bandon's officers on the ways of command. I give you these barbarians, and in a month's time, I expect them to ride in formation like Romans, fight like Romans, and think like Romans.'

_I am to train these Iris Knights?_ Markos thought. _Am I really the best-suited for that task?_

'You have something in your mind,' Stephanos said, easily reading Markos's expression. 'Let us hear it.'

'Well,' Markos began, briefly glancing at the covered portraits to collect his thoughts and immediately focussing back on his father. 'I am simply wondering why you have chosen _me _for this task, specifically. Surely, there are other, more experienced officers of the koursores?'

'There are,' Stephanos said plainly. 'Eirenikos and Amentos come to mind. However, they are experienced in commanding native _Roman _cavalrymen, who already have the training and discipline of Roman soldiers. You, on the other hand, have the most experience in commanding foreign troops and turning them into an effective fighting force.'

'Are not the Serbs considered fully Roman citizens?' Markos asked.

'Only recently,' Stephanos answered with a shrug. 'They are foreign enough for our purposes.'

'How foreign does that make _us_, then?'

'Not very,' Stephanos said, a patient smile on his face. 'My mother was half-Serb, but my father was fully Roman, I grew up in Constantinople, and I was raised as a Roman. Both of _your _parents are Roman, and you grew up in Trebizond.' His smile widened. 'Which, as you know, is the most loyal of Roman cities.'

'But then again,' Stephanos said after a short pause, his expression turning serious. 'You are trying to change the subject. You are to train the princess's knights and bring them to Roman effectiveness in a month. Am I understood?'

'I'm afraid the princess and her knights may not actually have a good opinion of me, given how I had them imprisoned in their own hall…' Markos remarked.

'Then the first lessons they ought learn are discipline and professionalism.'

'One more thing, Father,' Markos said. 'Will you truly allow the princess and her knights – her _female _knights – into the fury of battle?'

Stephanos shrugged. 'They have trained for war in their own crude ways long before we arrived,' he replied. 'And that they are allowed to endanger themselves upon the blades of the enemy despite them being women is due to the weakness of the native men, not ours. We are simply adapting to the situation. After all, outnumbered as we certainly are, we need every sword and spear we can get.'

He then grinned, and Markos thought he saw a mischievous glint in his eyes.

'And I am doing you a favour here, Son,' he said, his grin widening. 'If this Princess Alicia truly does think poorly of you, this is your chance to improve their view of you.'

Markos sighed and shook his head. 'This kind of "favour" did not work too well with Nino,' he said, grimacing at the memory. The image of the Georgian envoy's daughter from four years prior flashed in his mind once more, but he quickly quashed it. _That part of my life is over now._

This time, Stephanos laughed out loud. 'I'm certain your crippling shyness from back then is not _my _fault,' he said, still chuckling. 'Let us simply hope that you have managed to get over it.'

He waved his hand towards the direction of the door.

'Go on, then. You are dismissed. You will report to your new posting tomorrow. For now, you will take care of your bandon's chain of command, should they need to operate in your absence. Though I am certain you will dump all of the work onto poor Gavrilo again.' he shook his head. 'Just like those lessons you did not like.'

Markos shared one last laugh with his father before started to make his way towards the door.

'But before you leave, there is one more thing,' Stephanos said, just as the Komes opened the door to the hallway. Markos stopped and looked at him.

'There is a clear line between wholesome admiration and unholy lust. You are a grown man now, so I am certain you know which is which.'

Markos shook his head with a smile as he left the room, hearing his father's laughter even as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Once his son left, Stephanos assumed the role of Strategos once more. He sent Spyros off to call on the other commanders of the tagma shortly after his son left, which gave him a few moments alone to consider the situation. Not wanting to waste any time, he stood from his seat and walked up to the shelves below the covered coat-of-arms, taking the large parchment that lay in one shelf before returning to the table. He unrolled the parchment on the table and returned to his seat.

The parchment, which took up a considerable part of the table when unrolled, showed a map of the kingdom, detailing all of its major settlements, landmarks and fortifications. The letters were all quite foreign to him, but it showed the main features of the kingdom well enough: the mountainous north and west, the forests of the south-west, and the plains of the east. A great river – the same one that bounded the Roman camp – ran roughly from north to south from the mountains and provided the kingdom's western border, fed by several tributaries. Several thinner blue streams flowed from the north to the plains and beyond the kingdom's eastern border, but the map showed nothing about how large they were or whether they were navigable.

_Habitation centred on towns, no villages of note, heavy fortification, some streams of water, _Stephanos thought as he looked at the map. _It seems familiar._ He stood and moved to another part of the table to look at it from another angle, and another, and another. Soon, he settled back to his seat, finally recognising why the map seemed familiar to him.

_Here is Trebizond_, he thought, resting a finger at the fortress-city of Feoh. He traced a line westward, and his finger ended up close to another town. _Here is Petroma_. He traced his finger further west, and it ended up exactly in another town. _Here is Kerasous_. He kept tracing a lines with his finger, naming castles and towns from his own home as he went. _Sourmana. Ardasa._ _Mesochaldia_. _In terms of the arrangement of settlements, at least, I might as well be looking at a map of the Theme of Chaldia, with the Pontic Mountains moved north to replace the Black Sea. _

'Interesting,' he said, eyes squinted in thought.

There was a knock on the door, which Stephanos took note of without taking his eyes off the map. It opened with a slight creak after a few moments, and Spyros poked his head into the room.

'The commanders are here, my lord,' the servant said.

'Enter,' Stephanos replied with a gesture, rolling up the map and letting it rest against the table beside him as a group of men filed into the room.

The commanders of the tagma entered in single file in a well-drilled procession. Though they wore their courtly attire of instead of armour, the briskness of their movements and the uprightness of their bearing gave no doubt as to the martial nature of their profession.

Olafsson led the procession, imposing even without his armour, a living representation of the authority of the absent Emperor. He was clad in the ceremonial cloak, tunic, and silken hood of a Varangian officer in court, and he carried a staff of office in the place of his iconic axe. Close behind was the Komes Argyros, leader of the imperial troops attached to the tagma and commander of the siphonatores. He bore no staff and only wore a tunic of common silk and skiadion of a nobleman of modest rank, but he did wear a golden necklace that showed the double-headed eagle of the Komnenoi as a reminder of his unique status as a man of the Emperor's household.

After the Emperor's men marched the commanders of the tagma. Demetrios, Stephanos's Topoteretes and commander of the kataphraktoi, stout and dependable, was first, wearing a nobleman's skiadion and a carrying staff of office. After him was Alexios, Master of Camp and one of the most learned men of the tagma, wearing a turban and bearing a ceremonial mace as a show of rank.

Behind Demetrios and Alexios were the commanders of the individual companies of the tagma, men wearing humbler turbans and carrying no staves. First among them were the Allagatores of the koursores, Kamateros and Rhadinos. The older Kamateros was scarred and roughened by a lifetime of war while the younger Rhadinos was clean-looking and well-formed. After them marched the Taxiarchethes of the infantry: the two Andronikoi, Bourtzes and Psellos, both of whom reached their high rank from humble beginnings, and Photios Mouzakios, scion of a rising family in Trebizond. Behind the infantry commanders were two more Allagatores, those of the hippo-toxotai: Markos Aionios, the son of a converted Turk, and Nikephoros Spartenos, a descendant of the Pechenegs that once plagued the Empire. And behind all of the Roman commanders, last in position but not in dignity, marched the Frankish Count de Brienne, commander of the Latinikon, who was clad in the attire of his native French court and proudly displaying the sigil of his noble house in his tunic's chest.

'Gentlemen,' he said, gesturing towards the table. 'Be seated.'

The commanders followed after the Strategos, taking up most of the seats but leaving the head of the table empty.

'Princess Alicia of Feoh and her noble counsellors,' Spyros announced as the Romans have settled in their seats. They stood up with military synchronicity to acknowledge the entry of the princess, who was technically their host.

The princess walked in, followed by a man and a woman. The woman, a green-eyed Iris Knight with short, masculine hair of an exotic orange hue, was Ophelia, the princess's new second in the Holy Iris Order. The man, a relatively short, stocky man of possibly middle age dressed in the strange, frilly garments possibly worn by the native nobility, was unknown to the Romans. However, that his right arm was in a sling and he had a bandage over the left side of his face said quite a lot about where he was during the battle.

Stephanos observed the princess once more. She _was _beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and he understood why his son was so attracted. He also saw in her actions, in the small gestures and she made and how her eyes darted from person to person in the room when she thought no one noticed, that she seemed uncertain.

_Troubled indeed_, the Strategos thought. _Markos was right._

'My lords,' the princess said as she and her companions stood at the room's entryway. 'May I present to you Lady Ophelia of the House of Marrasal, my interim Marshal of the City, and Lord Claudius of the House of Asan, interim Steward of the City.'

'You and your worthy lords are welcome among us, Princess,' he said.

The princess nodded and immediately took her place at the head of the table while her two companions – _her entire government, _Stephanos thought – sat furthest from her. Between the princess and her nobles were Roman commanders to her left and right, an unsubtle show of where power in the room truly lay.

'Please, be seated,' the princess said. All the lords in the room complied, though the Romans only did so after a slight nod from the Strategos.

'On behalf of my commanders, I thank you, Your Highness, for your graciousness in allowing us to make use of a portion of your city as a base of operations,' Stephanos said, quickly attempting to take control of the meeting. _Even this conversation is a battle in itself_, he thought, _one to determine what this partnership between us will be like._

'That is no issue to us, Strategos,' Princess Alicia replied with a smile Stephanos believed hid deep-seated discomfort. 'It was the strength of your valiant warriors that ensured that we still _have _a city to accommodate you in.'

'Hear, hear,' the bandaged man, Lord Asan, said. _A show of solidarity with the princess, _Stephanos thought. _A way to demonstrate where he stood._

'But of course, our gratitude to you is already quite evident,' the princess continued. 'We ought now to speak of the future. Namely, of our next steps now that the city is secured.' _Here it is_, Stephanos said, _she will push us towards __a full expedition into the __neighbouring kingdom as soon as possible_.

He remembered what happened in their previous meeting the day before.

'_Whatever demands you have, I will be certain to accept them,' the princess told him with a low bow. 'But I beg of you, please make sure my sister is safe!'_

_Such care for her sister is admirable_, Stephanos thought, _but it may lead to disaster._

'We have driven back the Black Dogs, but not without losses of our own,' Stephanos said. 'It may be better if we focus our strengths on rebuilding the city, recouping our losses, and securing the surrounding countryside.'

'I agree,' Lord Asan added. 'Securing our shared home first is important.'

'The city's fortifications are largely untouched,' Alexios remarked. 'Our soldiers should be able to hold it against a force of a size similar to the one that attacked as long as the provisions hold.'

'Will they hold?' Stephanos asked.

'They will,' Alexios answered. 'We have just finished our tally of the supplies we have captured from the Black Dogs. I estimate that we have about four months' supply of food. We may not need to even think about slaughtering any of our own cattle for some time. We also have replenished our stock of military arrows. Their swords are similar enough to our own, but their spears are of insufficient length for our purposes.'

'I will grant your blacksmiths access to our forges and toolmakers,' Alicia said. 'And I request that you also outfit recruits from Feoh with your metal chain-coats, if possible.'

'As is proper,' Stephanos said with a nod. _Best be careful in this_, he thought. _Be too accommodating and we will end up as mere subordinates of these natives. Be too controlling and we will sow unnecessary conflict. Both cases will be detrimental to our mission._

'By the way, my lord, we have yet another issue with armour,' Alexios reported. 'That is, we lack the silk and cotton to manufacture more kavadia, should the need arise.'

'If you can explain to us what those are, we may be able to find them for you,' Lord Asan said.

Stephanos nodded and looked at Alexios, who was seated to his right two seats away from him, next to Demetrios.

'Then I will coordinate with Lord Asan to procure the materials, if they are available,' the Master of Camp said.

'In the meantime, my lord, I suggest getting the servants to sew French gambesons in the place of kavadia if the need arises,' de Brienne said, stroking his beard in thought. 'After all, a gambeson is simply a kavadion made of linen and wool instead of silk and cotton.' He addressed Lord Asan. 'We do have linen and wool, do we not?'

'We do,' Lord Asan answered with a nod. 'If you can provide us a figure of how much you need, we will be more than happy to supply you.'

'We have another issue regarding supplies, my lord,' Alexios said. 'And I believe this one is especially close to your heart. Our supply of liquid fire is critically low. Given our rate of consumption of it, I believe we will completely run out in about two battles.'

'Liquid fire?' Lady Ophelia asked. 'What might that be?'

'I have heard some prisoners speak of your warriors spewing out magical fire that cannot be quenched with water,' Alicia said. 'Might that be it?'

'Indeed it is, Your Highness,' Alexios answered. 'It is a weapon revealed to our ancestors by divine inspiration, but it is not magical at all. Our supplies of it, however, are limited.'

'I have already made an arrangement regarding liquid fire with Komes Argyros,' Stephanos said. 'He and his men shall see if anything can be done regarding this situation.'

'We can head out as soon as possible, my lord,' Argyros confirmed.

'Now that our issues with supply are solved, I would like to make a suggestion,' Lady Ophelia said. Alicia nodded and gestured for her to speak. _Perhaps because this suggestion is __made at her own instigation_, Stephanos thought.

'Thank you, Your Highness,' the lady began. 'The Strategos's suggestion of securing the countryside is well and good, but perhaps we can take it one step further. Perhaps it is possible to send an army further afield, to the Kingdom of Ur to our south, so that we can form a united front against the Black Dogs.'

'Ur has long been an ally of Feoh, even before the formation of the Seven Shield Alliance,' Lord Asan said, 'and her ruling house is closely-related to the House of Arcturus. While the martial prowess of their knights is inferior to the Holy Iris Order, they too are stalwart and courageous, and their nuns and mages are skilled in the arts of healing.'

'And if they are under attack, assisting them with a full expedition will win the Romans their gratitude, which will certainly be most valuable,' Princess Alicia added. 'I support this suggestion.'

Stephanos tented his fingers in thought. _L__aunching a full expedition to the neighbouring kingdom __is not wise at this time_, he wanted to say. _Admittedly, though, __ascertaining the situation of our neighbours will be good for us_.

'That proposition is acceptable,' he said, 'if we are not as vulnerable as we currently are.'

'Vulnerable, my lord?' Alicia asked, her tone flat but seemingly hiding some agitation. 'How so?'

'Firstly, the previous battle has shown me that we are quite outnumbered by the Black Dogs,' Stephanos said. He faced Demetrios, who sat next to him. 'Topoteretes, elucidate the princess on the state of the tagma.'

'Sir,' Demetrios replied. ''Our losses in the previous battle were light, a little more than 200 dead. The tagma currently has about 4,200 soldiers, including the banda who should be arriving with our cattle and provisions later today.' He looked at the direction of de Brienne, Argyros and Olafsson, who were all seated opposite him. 'Counting the Emperor's men and the Latinikon, we have around 4,800 all in all,' he said, and the three nodded in confirmation.

'Not an insignificant force,' Lord Asan remarked. 'Especially since it has shown itself capable of defeating a foe that greatly outnumbered it.'

'True,' Demetrios said, 'but among that 4,800 are the wounded. About 1,200 were wounded in the battle, quite a number of them seriously so. While the lightly-injured are still able to fight, the physicians inform me that the most serious cases will not be able to fight for a month or so, the others in about a week or two. At the moment, we have a little less than 4,000 capable of fighting.'

'Just barely enough to garrison the city,' the steward said with a sigh.

'And we cannot discount the possibility of rebellion from the kingdom itself,' Stephanos said.

'Our towns are loyal, Strategos,' Lady Ophelia said pointedly. 'And so are the nobles that govern them.'

Stephanos looked around and saw in the faces of his commanders exactly what they thought of the loyalty of those provincial nobles. Even Princess Alicia herself did not seem too convinced.

'Even loyalty may lead men to rash action,' Olafsson remarked, which Stephanos was quite grateful for. _He can speak more frankly than I __can__ in this matter_, he thought.

'Consider this, Your Highness,' Olafsson explained. 'Swift riders should be headed to the kingdom's chief towns to deliver your decrees. Those same decrees speak of an attack by the Black Dogs, the capital left vulnerable, and quite possibly occupation by a new army they have never heard of before. The decree also has measures regarding the contribution of a portion of the city's land to this new army, providing them with half the plunder, allowing them to recruit citizens to increase their numbers, and building a church to their God, whom the people have also not heard of before. If you were in the place of the citizens who have neither seen nor heard of the battle we have just fought, what might this decree tell you regarding the status of the capital?'

Alicia shook her head and looked towards her two nobles, as if asking for assistance.

'That…' Lord Asan began. 'That this new army that defeated the Black Dogs now holds the princess hostage and have forced her to write this decree for their sake as the first step towards commanding the kingfom.'

'Indeed,' Stephanos answered. 'The more loyal souls within those towns may then be driven to rise up in rebellion, misguided as they are, and march on the city to try and rescue the princess. On the other hand, the more ambitious will see this as an opportunity to either carve out their own independent demesnes and arise in rebellion as well.'

'What- what can be done to prevent these rebellions, then?' Princess Alicia asked.

Stephanos once again tented his fingers before him and furrowed his brow in thought. 'Perhaps…' he began. 'Perhaps they may be placated by a show that you are still in full control of the kingdom. You or some Iris Knights famed for their loyalty and closeness to you – perhaps Lady Ophelia – can visit one or two of the chief towns of the kingdom, ostensibly to ascertain their safety after the victory against the Black Dogs. The people of those towns will see this, and the news will spread that you are safe and well. This should be enough to quell misguided loyalist rebellions. However, nothing can quell the ambitions of the second type of rebel, so our soldiers will be prepared for battle, should they approach the city's walls.'

The princess considered his words and eventually sighed in defeat

'So nothing at all can be done for Ur, then?'

'I did not say that,' Stephanos said, shaking his head. 'Unstable as our position is, it will be good for us to learn of the situation outside our walls. I will send a swift mounted force to Ur to ascertain the situation there.' He gestured at Kamateros. 'Allagator Kamateros is an able commander and a seasoned scout. I am sending him, with Allagator Aionios as his second.'

Kamateros and Aionios stood and bowed, and the princess nodded in acknowledgement.

'And what if Ur is indeed under attack? Or what if it has already fallen to the Black Dogs?' the princess asked.

'After such a crushing defeat here, I doubt the Black Dogs are in any shape to attack anything for some time,' Psellos remarked.

'And we have captured their provisions as well,' Bourtzes added.

Princess Alicia frowned as she thoughtfully mulled over the Roman commanders' words. 'Yes, I guess that makes sense,' she said after a few moments. 'But we cannot be too certain. I and a dozen Iris Knights will accompany your scouting force.'

'What of the knights who will pacify the towns, Your Highness?' Lady Ophelia asked. 'I know you are very concerned about Princess Prim, but what of the threat of rebellion?'

'I entrust that duty to you,' the princess replied. 'Sergeant Cassandra is also a native of Darlan and is famed in that region. If the people there see her and hear her words, they will know that Feoh remains free.'

'Very good,' Stephanos said. He then gestured for Spyros to approach. 'Head to Kamateros's and Aionios's men,' he told the servant. 'Inform them of new orders to prepare to move out. And tell the stables to prepare horses fit for two allagia and provisions for…' He turned to Princess Alicia.

'How many days does it usually take to ride to Ur?' he asked.

'Four days, if we take the secret road in the woods,' the princess explained.

'Eight days,' Stephanos told Spyros, which earned a questioning glance from the princess.

'Yes, my lord,' the servant answered with a bow before heading off.

'I must take my leave early as well, to command my knights to make their own preparations,' Princess Alicia said.

Stephanos's mien turned thoughtful, his brow furrowed and eyes slightly squinted. _She is willing to __abandon all affairs of state to __ascertain the safety of this sister of hers_, he thought. _Admirable __to an extent, but __it can be a weakness __that can be __manipulated __if shown in excess__. __We __ought to __teach her to __moderate__ this tendency._

'Surely you can leave the duty of sending messages to a servant, Your Highness,' Lord Asan said before turning to Stephanos. 'Strategos, we have further matters to discuss, do we not?'

'Indeed,' the Strategos said with a nod. 'Of governance, the new Roman Quarter, recruitment, and new means of defeating demons. I also expect servants carrying our refreshments to arrive alongside Father Makarios shortly, so you do not need to call for one.'

The princess sighed. 'Alright,' she replied. 'I shall remain for as long as I am needed. But I expect to be able to leave at the soonest possible time.'

'My men are always ready to do their duty, Your Highness,' Kamateros said. 'We can leave as soon as the horses and provisions are ready.' Aionios nodded in agreement.

'Do not worry, Your Highness,' Stephanos added. 'We are, for the moment, still laying out the foundations of our alliance. I am certain our discussions not keep you overlong.'

The princess nodded, though she did not seem fully convinced.

Indeed, after Father Makarios arrived and the men of Feoh and the Roman Empire started discussing matters of governance, warfare, and the question of spreading the faith, the meeting dragged on for hours, until half an hour after midday.

* * *

'Which castle is that?' Claudia asked as she scanned the western horizon. In her eyes, that castle was little more than an indistinct grey vision atop a distant hill.

'That would be the Rock of Kish, own by the Count Valdram,' Captain Astrid of the Dawn Templars answered, looking at a map.

'Weather permitting, three more days to the City of Ur, then,' Claudia said. A tinge of worry appeared in her mind as she spoke those words, and she looked up at the morning sky. She noted with some relief that the clouds remained sparse: an uncommon event that far into autumn.

'Yes, My Lady. And from there, a week to Feoh. We can only pray we are not too late.'

'We will not be,' Claudia said firmly. 'The Goddess's visions are never in error.'

Claudia Levantine, Grand Master of the Dawn Templars, Lady-Steward of Feoh, and Second Shield of the Alliance, marched with all due haste to Feoh. Alongside her were four companies of the Dawn Templars, 200 knights in all, a third of the strength of her order. The knights, as was customary, were accompanied by their squires and men-at-arms, around 6,000 all told. The assembled force was an awe-inspiring sight, the cream of Geofu's armed might.

In truth, Claudia had hastily gathered the army after Celestine Lucross, Goddess Incarnate and First Shield of the Alliance, called for an urgent convocation of the Shields shortly after the Black Dogs sent their declaration of war. Despite the Seventh Shield Maia locking herself up in Ansur and refusing contact with anyone shortly after the exposure of the Black Dogs' betrayal, the convocation went on ahead, and the Goddess detailed what her visions revealed about the Black Dogs' plan of attack.

'Feoh would fall first,' she said, 'and Ur along with it_. _Then would follow Ansur, and Rad only after a fierce struggle. The fortress of Thorn, isolated, would be set ablaze, and even Geofu-on-the-River would be overthrown. Only the White City would remain at the last, but even it would not stand for long against the demonic tide.'

All of the Shields present expressed shock and disbelief at that prophecy, even Kaguya, in her own reserved way. Alicia, ever the most devoted of them, proclaimed that her city and Prim's will not fall as long as she drew breath.

The Goddess, however, was not comforted by such words. When asked how Vault could possibly do what the Dark Queen had only failed at for centuries, the Goddess shook her head and admitted, tears in her eyes, that she did not know. The rest of her Shields, true to their duties, vowed to her that they will undertake all the preparations necessary for this new war. For her part, Claudia was ordered to head back to her home city of Geofu to gather what forces she can and assist Feoh in the coming attack. If she can prevent its fortress-city from falling, she was told, the Alliance may yet ride out the war intact.

After the convocation ended, the Goddess called on Claudia privately, as she often did when she wanted to speak freely. They spoke together in the inner gardens of the White Palace, where Celestine told her Second Shield of a private worry, one she did not want to burden the others with at that point.

'The eagle with two heads makes the future uncertain,' she said, her voice trembling with uncertainty. 'I have seen a new army, of knights on iron steeds and of steel and fire. Their arrival will throw all prophecies off balance, for they act upon the orders of a higher will.'

'What is the nature of this army?' Claudia remembered herself asking. 'Are they enemies? Friends, perhaps?'

'Of that, I do not know,' Celestine admitted with a sigh. 'All I know is that they will arrive, and by this sign, they will conquer.'

She then traced a foreign runic symbol in the air, one that gave Claudia some sense of nameless foreboding she could not fully understand. The burning rune dissipated after a minute, but its memory remained with her.

The sound of hooves on the ground drove Claudia back to the present. She turned back and saw a messenger, one bearing the banner of Sir Caldan of Geofu. The messenger reached her shortly after.

'Report from the rear guard, My Lady,' he said. 'The army's baggage train is fully rested and prepared for the march once more. My lord Sir Caldan apologises for falling behind.'

'Good,' the Second Shield said with a nod. She then turned towards Astrid. 'Resume the march. Our task is to reach the Rock of Kish by midday and the border of Ur by nightfall. We will leave the baggage train at the Rock if it proves too slow. If the need arises, we can just procure our provisions from the villages of Ur as we march.'

'Yes, my lady,' Astrid replied.

_Worries about this new army can wait_, Claudia thought as their march began again. _For now, we have Feoh to save_.

* * *

Under the leadership of Vault himself, the Black Dogs have managed to overcome the greatest of the dark elves' strongholds far to the north of Garan within weeks the conquest of the Black Fortress. A few hold-outs of resistance remained in the mountains, but they were all isolated and crushed, their leaders given over to the demons as playthings and their common womenfolk violated by the Black Dogs in full view of their men.

The majority of the dark elven men, those that did not betray their kingdom for a place in the new order, were reduced to becoming slave labour and conscripted shock troops for the Black Dogs' growing army. The two millennia-old history of the ancient Kingdom of Garan was all but eradicated, and its lands became the Commandery of Negramstia, first of the provinces of the Sex Empire.

However, as the Black Dogs crushed the last of the dark elven resistance, the army they sent to the lands of the Seven Shield Alliance was decisively crushed in Feoh, which spoiled their initial plans to turn that city into a foothold from which to launch further attacks deeper in Alliance territory and a hub they can use to send supplies to the front and captives back to the Black Fortress.

Still, the self-proclaimed Mercenary King, Vault, paid little heed to the defeat. He had enough contingency plans to deal with such setbacks, and he had ripe recruiting grounds both in Negramstia and within the lands of the Alliance itself. Furthermore, autumn was slowly giving way to winter, and the deserts of Garan would be at their most navigable point in the year.

The conquest of the dark elves was over. The time to move the bulk of the Black Dogs' strength south had arrived.

* * *

**Hey look, I managed to cut the number of actual meetings to one. Yay. The Black Dogs were also supposed to have a meeting with the usual evil Black Dog shenanigans (Chloe and Olga should have made an appearance), but when I reached that point of the story, I'm sure you'd already be as sick of them as I am right now. Still, meetings have to be met somehow. Hopefully, someone gets to try to kill something next chapter.**

**Janne Rolfe Jalandoni: I agree, city is better than no city.**

**Perseus12: Nope, the Roman Empire here stays in my _Medieval II_ playthrough, where it belongs. If the Byzantines need reinforcements (which they do), they'll have to be creative.**

**Pockmark: I decided to leave the fate of the traitors to another time, when the situation is no longer as precarious. For now, the traitors can remain comfy in their nice dungeons.**

**Aznereth: I'm not a fan of simply bashing villainous characters, you see. If the people in the story thinks they're threatening enough to be the main antagonists, they have to actually be able to back it up. And I'm also a fan of armour doing what it's supposed to do: make sure the pointy thing does not reach its wearer's innards. Meanwhile, in an unrelated universe, big battle scene. You don't know this, but Settra likes sand. It's rough, it's coarse, and it gets where his enemies don't want it to.**

**edboy4926: Thanks.**

**Mad God 42: You can also try the _Medieval II Total War _and _Crusader Kings 2 _soundtracks. Very fitting. But if you want to try to use the music I listen to while actually writing this, you may want to look at things that most certainly do not fit, like the _Initial D _soundtrack. This chapter is brought to you by 'Gas Gas Gas'.**

**Blazblade: The fall of the Black Dogs remains to be seen. For now, they're still the big, overpowering threat that has filthy tentacles in most places and a stable base they can recruit from and retreat to. I'd also probably only use the old Deus ex Machina trick for when I've written myself into a corner and can't find a way out, but there will still be other supernatural elements in the battles to come. If the Byzantines want to win, they're going to have to work for it. I'm making magic very rare in this story based on the fact that the Black Dogs apparently only had two mages despite being the biggest mercenary army in the land, so the Byzantines' knowledge of medicine and the wonder that is the field medic will still have to be important going forward. As for training, Alicia now has requested a new Byzantine-style army for herself, though she may get a rude awakening regarding how much an army costs. She may even have to offer her new soldiers land in exchange for service instead of money. The Byzantines had a name for that… The new soldiers will be armoured in mail, of course, which is actually lighter than most people think (still fairly heavy). And I'm also a fan of Nikephoros II's cataphract archers, but by the time of the Komnenian period, cavalry roles are starting to become more specialised to reduce training time, with horse archers becoming lighter and faster and cataphracts turning into 'picked lancers' like Western knights. That's probably what the Byzantines here will also do. As for naval battles, the original _Kuroinu _map did have rivers, but they're very much out of the way. I extended one river from the mountains of the north to that sea in the south, which means it forms part of the border between the Black Dogs' lands and the Seven Shield Alliance. I also added more streams and rivers so the people can actually have water to drink and irrigate with. And I see your Viking longboats and raise you Byzantine fire dromons… if they can actually find some ingredients for liquid fire. As for your question in the previous chapter about crossbows, the Byzantines _should _theoretically know about them (they had the cheiroballistrai back in Roman times and may have called their bigger ballistae 'great crossbows'), but they didn't seem to use them much during the Komenian period. Anna Komnena wrote they were 'barbarian weapons' that weren't common among Greeks.**

**Basileia Rhomanoi: I'm pretty sure the emperors and the Church still used the Chi-Rho, though I'm not sure about it being a national emblem. Honestly, I only used the Chi-Rho here because that's the Byzantine symbol in the Stainless Steelmod for _Medieval II Total Wa__r_.**

**Ekurman: Thanks.**

**kyro2009: Yes, Vault will have strategies. He'll have lots of strategies. Wherever he will target next, it's certainly _not _Feoh again. But as I said previously, I'll try my hardest to make the Black Dogs an actual threat in this fic instead of just a target of bashing. I've learned that making your big bad evil guy actually dangerous is one key to a good story, so long as you don't end up overdoing it.**

**carbon1923: Yes, those things go together like peanut butter and liquid fire. Very lovely.**

**Stoneman303: Thank you. The multiple viewpoints were there as much for my sake as for the reader's; if I get bored with one part of the battle, I can easily switch to another. That's also what I'd probably do in the Settra story since I've gotten used to it.**

**Xboxgorgo18: They're going to have to recruit locally. Maybe even teach the barbarians enough Greek to make them understand orders.**

**Oh, as a bit of trivia, that possibility of ambitious nobles in Feoh building their own enclaves after they learned the capital was taken is a reference to what happened to the Byzantine Empire after the great big mess that was the Fourth Crusade. I also got the name 'Negramstia' from _Kuroinu _2, which I learned about thanks to the magic of even more fanfiction. That was the name of the Black Dogs' empire then. I'll probably make some odd references to the _Kuroinu _sequel here and there (and in the other story).**

**And that's it for now. Next, I'll try to edit some earlier chapters because I very stupidly wrote them so that castle doors opened outwards, which is bad design. I'll also work on the next Settra chapter, which should come shortly after (Orthodox) Easter. No promises, though.**

**And remember, stay safe.**


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